Part Six
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0600 Local
Mac awoke to the sounds of drums rolling and bugles braying throughout the camp. Hurriedly, she splashed water on her face and dragged the comb through her hair. When she got back to the wagon last night, it had been apparent that someone had been busy on her behalf - probably Fitzgerald. She found supplies laid out for her: a comb, toothbrush, small sewing kit, tin cup, claspknife, spoon, a polished piece of metal to use as a mirror and a haversack. He'd also assembled extra socks, another shirt and an overcoat to go with what she was already wearing. Not quite knowing what to expect, she had slept in the shirt and pants from yesterday. Stuffing her feet into her shoes, she threw on the uniform jacket and stuck her head out of the wagon.
Everywhere was the controlled chaos that bespoke an imminent move. She stepped out of the wagon and looked around. Tents were being struck, teams hitched, officers and non-coms moving quickly amidst the men. Mac headed to the area where Major Rabb's tent had been and ran into Sergeant Fitzgerald. He was mounted on a rangy dapple gray and leading a smaller, nondescript chestnut.
"Miss MacKenzie! The Major sent me to fetch you." He dismounted as he was talking and strode towards her, "I've brought you a mount." He paused for a moment, uncertain, "Do you know how to ride?"
Mac grimaced slightly, "Not well." Resolutely, she stepped forward and took the reins to the chestnut, "I guess this will be on-the-job training."
Fitzgerald gave her a confused look, "Ummm, yes ma'am." Once she was up, he remounted and turned to the left, "This way, ma'am."
They rode quietly for a few minutes, weaving through the bustle. Mac looked over at the Sergeant, "What's happened?"
He didn't answer but pulled up instead, putting out a hand to stop her as well, "Listen."
She sat there for a moment and then she heard it, a deep-throated rumbling. She looked at Fitzgerald, "Artillery?"
He smiled grimly, "Old Jube's fixin' to wake snakes and General Hunter's decided to advance in the other direction. We're part of the rearguard." He spurred his mount onward and Mac hurried her horse after him.
They came across the Major a few minutes later. He was dismounted amidst a group of other officers, drawing lines in the dirt. Finishing what he was telling them, Rabb glanced up at Fitzgerald and Mac, "Good morning." He swung up into the saddle and headed out, gesturing for them to follow along. He looked over at the Sergeant, "General Early's on the move again, Tommy, and we're supposed to slow him down at Harrisonburg. I want you to put Miss MacKenzie somewhere safe."
Fitzgerald looked like he wanted to protest, but all he said was, "Yes sir."
Mac thought about arguing as well but reconsidered. She knew very little about the weaponry of this time period and how it might affect tactics. Maybe she could convince the Sergeant to find her a safe place with a view. She glanced over to find Rabb watching her, "Yes, Major?"
"I trust you'll follow Sergeant Fitzgerald's orders?" Mac nodded and he smiled, "Thank you. Perhaps if the Secesh prove accommodating, you'll join me again for dinner?"
Mac smiled back, "I'd enjoy that, thank you."
Rabb's smile grew wider, "The pleasure is all mine, madam. I will see you tonight." With that, he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, wheeled his horse to the right and galloped off.
Mac watched him ride away until he was lost from view. She turned back to find Fitzgerald watching her appraisingly. She raised an eyebrow, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing at all," Fitzgerald said with what Mac considered to be a woefully inadequate attempt at innocence. "If you'll come with me, ma'am. We've got a bit of ride." He turned his horse and went in the opposite direction of Major Rabb.
They rode along in silence for several minutes before Mac finally asked, "Where are we going, Sergeant?"
"Towards New Market, ma'am. The supply and baggage wagons will be there under a light guard. It's far enough to the rear, so it should be safe." He glanced sideways at her to gauge her reaction. He felt more than a little relieved that she hadn't objected. She nodded once and then lapsed into silence, apparently absorbed in her own thoughts.
Fitzgerald studied her as unobtrusively as he could. Josiah Rabb was showing an interest in this woman and the Sergeant meant to see that he didn't get hurt. He'd run into Rabb as a newly-minted, wet-behind-the-ears 2nd Lieutenant and developed a liking for the young man. The Lieutenant had shown an uncommon amount of sense in letting his sergeants continue his military education. The Regular Army had been pretty small in those days, it wasn't hard to keep track. Their paths crossed numerous times over the years and when this war had broken out, Tommy had pulled in favors so he could serve in Rabb's command.
He glanced over at Miss MacKenzie again. He didn't know quite what to make of her. He didn't like masculine, uppity women on the whole. This one was obviously comfortable wearing men's clothing and although it was apparent that she wasn't an experienced rider, it was also apparent that she had learned to ride astride. Add that to the fact that she had easily flattened three men... he paused for a moment. To be scrupulously fair, she'd only truly whupped the tar out of Caine... and that was with one well-placed punch. The man had been wobbly for a good hour afterwards. She'd tripped Garrett using some fancy Indian-wrestling sort of move and then Jensen had managed to run into Garrett, knocking them both down. She hadn't let the Major intimidate her either. All in all, Fitzgerald decided he had more than ample cause to despise her... except that he didn't.
She was soft-spoken and polite, hadn't complained or whined about the situation she found herself in. Hadn't prattled on either, which was a blessed relief. With a dress on and her hair grown out proper again, she'd be right pretty. She was feisty and he suspected that was what really attracted the Major. Cassandra Rabb had been feisty, too.
"Sergeant Fitzgerald?" Her soft voice broke into his musings.
"Yes ma'am?"
"It's gotten awfully quiet."
It had. No birds sang and even the cicadas were silent. His eyes widened and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Damnation! Why hadn't he been paying attention? He didn't look at her as he said quietly, "Get ready to ride, ma'am." They went a few more steps and he let his mount drift half a length back. Suddenly, he yelled, "Now!" and brought the flat of his hand down on the chestnut's rump.
Gunfire erupted as the two horses leaped forward into a gallop. He heard the hornet-like buzz of bullets all around even as his horse stumbled and slowed. The gray managed a few more lengths before it collapsed. As the horse went down, Fitzgerald threw himself clear, rolling to a stop in the middle of the road. He scrambled to his feet and turned back in time to see four horsemen appear from the thickets on both sides. Cursing, he ran back to the gray. If he could get his carbine free, he might stand half a chance.
Pounding hooves behind him had his heart in his throat as he turned and saw Miss MacKenzie galloping back to him. "What are you doing?!! Get out of here!!"
She ignored him as she hauled her horse to stop, "Get on!"
"NO! There's no time! Get out!" He pulled the carbine out of the boot as he yelled at her.
Next thing he knew, she was beside him, watching the oncoming riders. "Give me your pistol!"
He stared at her, "What?!" More gunshots had them both crouching as the riders swept towards them.
Exasperated, Mac reached over and yanked the pistol out of its holster. Fitzgerald spared her one more startled look before raising the carbine and opening fire. She kept low and waited, the distance in which the pistol was accurate wasn't much. Mac held steady as bullets whizzed by. She had time to be amazed at the accuracy of the riders. She'd have sworn you couldn't hit anything from a galloping horse. That was just something Hollywood liked to do. One raider went cartwheeling off his horse as Fitzgerald's fire struck home. Then it was time.
Mac fired off three rounds and watched a rider suddenly slump forward. She was surprised she'd hit anything, the heavy revolver kicked like a mule. Then she was throwing herself to one side as the remaining riders charged past. A spray of bits and slivers of stone peppered her as bullets slammed into the macadam surface of the road. She kept rolling and came up on her knees, pistol braced in both hands. Mac hazarded a quick glance over at Fitzgerald and sucked in her breath. He was down and curled on his side.
The rapid clatter of hooves dragged her attention back to their adversaries. Again, Mac was forced to wait for them to come into range. She only had time for one target as she squeezed off two more rounds. One more assailant tumbled from his horse and then she was scrambling once again to get out of the way of the other. She'd waited too long this time and went spinning as the horse's shoulder clipped her own. She caught herself on her hands and knees, wincing as the sharp little stones cut into her palms. She had lost the pistol during the collision and she cast about frantically trying to locate it before the remaining rider came back to finish her off.
Hoofbeats and gunfire told her she had run out of time. She lunged for the carbine near Fitzgerald as more shots spattered around her and came up swinging it like a baseball bat. She connected with a satisfying thump, knocking the last man clear out of the saddle. He landed on his back and his head made contact with the road with a sickening crunch. He didn't get up again. Mac stood there numbly for a little bit, surveying the carnage and then remembered the Sergeant.
She hurried over to him and lowered herself gingerly on knees already sore from their last contact with the road. "Sergeant? Can you hear me?" Carefully, she rolled him onto his back. At least he was still breathing. Blood was oozing from where he had his hands clamped to his side. She grabbed his wrists and pried unsuccessfully at his hands. He had a grip like iron. "Dammit, Fitzgerald! Let go, so I can see!"
"You... oughtn' ta swear... like that... Not ladylike," the Sergeant wheezed, opening one eye. He still hadn't relinquished his grip.
Mac stared at him in exasperation, "So sue me! Let go before I say something worse!" He loosened his hands and she pulled them away. The wound was halfway up his side. She started unbuttoning his coat, and then his shirt and he swatted ineffectually at her hands.
"What are y' doin? That's not proper. The Major..."
"Will not be pleased if I let you bleed to death. Hold on a minute, I'll be right back." She climbed to her feet and cautiously approached one of the horses that was now grazing at the side of the road. It rolled an eye at her and then continued to eat. Mac lifted the canteen off the saddle and then checked the saddlebags. In the second one, she found a flask wrapped in a shirt. She grabbed them both and hurried back to Fitzgerald.
Kneeling down again, she ripped a sleeve off the shirt and wiped at the blood. Then she picked up the flask and stopped for a moment over the wound. She glanced at Fitzgerald, "This is going to hurt."
He raised an eyebrow, "Darlin', it hurts already. Get to it."
"Right," She took a breath and then poured the liquor over the wound. Fitzgerald sucked in a breath with a hiss. Mac dabbed at the wound and took a closer look.
The Sergeant stared at her, "What?"
She gave him a quick look, "I think I can see the bullet." She pointed at his side, "It looks like it bounced off a rib and then slid around."
He grunted, "Must've been hit by a ricochet. Can you get it out?"
Mac looked at him in alarm, "Me? I'm no doctor."
"That wasn't what I asked. Can you get it out? I don't fancy dying from blood poison."
Mac didn't answer right away, sitting back on her heels. She took a quick look up and down the road. Flies were beginning to swarm around the bodies and the sickly sweet smell of blood was starting to get to her. They needed to get away from here. She took a deep breath and looked back at Fitzgerald, "I'll try." She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the claspknife. Opening it up, she picked up the flask and then paused, "Do you want any of this?"
Fitzgerald shook his head, "No ma'am, took a temperance oath a while back. Don't intend to break it now."
Mac nodded silently and splashed liquor on the blade and then more on the wound. Fitzgerald flinched but didn't say anything. She studied the area. It looked like the bullet had tunneled just under the surface from where it had deflected off the rib. If she cut lengthwise along the tunnel, she could probably pop it right out without having to dig. She glanced up at the Sergeant, "Get ready." Taking another deep breath and clenching her jaw, she began to cut. Less than a minute later, she was staring at a bloody, misshapen chunk of metal. Mac handed it to Fitzgerald and began ripping what was left of the shirt into strips for bandages. "This will have to do until we can get something cleaner on that. I don't want it to get infected."
"Yes, ma'am." He clenched his teeth as she pulled him upright to wrap the bandages around his middle. He took a swig from the canteen she offered and then laid back down.
Mac stood up, "I'll get the horses together."
"Just keep two and turn the rest loose," Fitzgerald told her. Mac nodded and headed out. Surprisingly, none of the horses had really gone all that far. In fifteen minutes, she was back with her chestnut and a sturdy-looking bay. The rest, she had stripped off saddles and bridles and turned loose. Fitzgerald eyed the pistol and holster she was now wearing. He wasn't going to complain, she'd earned the right to carry them.
Mac picked up the carbine and shoved it into the rifle boot on her saddle. She turned back to the Sergeant, "Ready?"
He nodded and together they got him to his feet. With his arm across her shoulder, they made it to the bay. He climbed and she shoved and they got him into the saddle. She was glad he wasn't a big man. He waited hunched over while she clambered onto the chestnut. Mac looked at him, "I have no idea where we are. Which way do we go?"
Fitzgerald nodded back the way they had come, "That way, we're closer to the front than to New Market." Together, they headed down the road. Mac kept close in case the Sergeant needed steadying. It had taken them an hour and twenty-three minutes to get this far down the road. It would probably take quite a bit more to get back.
Mac rode along, all her senses keyed up. The adrenalin rush was beginning to fade. Was this how it was going to be? Death by ambush? She could feel her muscles tense, anticipating the shot from an unseen assailant. Stop it, Mac told herself fiercely. If there'd been anyone else, they would have joined the first group. She looked up and down the road again and tried to relax. The scrapes on her hands and knees ached and her shoulder felt stiff where the horse had collided with it. She needed to stop worrying and be grateful she hadn't been hit. Medical care in this era probably killed more often than it saved.
Mac glanced over at Fitzgerald. He was still hunched over, looking straight ahead. She couldn't quite figure him out. Sometimes he seemed to regard her as a favorite daughter of sorts and other times like she was his cross to bear in this world. She gave a mental shrug, no doubt she confused him as much as he confused her. Mac scanned the area around them again and then looked at Fitzgerald, "Sergeant?" He turned his head slightly to look at her. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "Who were those guys?"
Fitzgerald gave her a look that she was beginning to classify as 'Wrong Century' and finally said carefully, "Bushwackers or irregulars, one of the two. I shoulda thought about it and gotten an escort. These blue coats might as well have bull's eyes painted on 'em. Just the two of us made a mighty tempting target." He was silent for a few strides, "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" He couldn't think of many women who could hit the broad side of a barn with a horse pistol. Hell, a lot of men weren't that good at it either. He, himself, only used it in close quarters - usually when he was within five or six feet.
Mac thought about it for a little bit. The truth, the U.S. Marine Corps, would hardly do. Apparently, women didn't use handguns that often. Finally, she opted for a version of the truth, "My uncle taught me. He's a Marine."
Fitzgerald grunted thoughtfully, he owed that fellow a drink if he ever ran into him. Slowly, they continued down the road. After a few more minutes, he looked over at her, "Miss Sarah?"
Mac looked at him in surprise, he'd never called her by her given name before. "Yes, Sergeant?"
"Thank you."
She gave him a warm smile, "You're welcome."
He looked down at his horse's mane for a moment and cleared his throat, "My friends call me Tommy."
Mac looked at him gravely, "Thank you, Tommy." Then she grinned at him, "My friends call me Mac."
His eyebrows rose, "Mac? That don't seem hardly proper, ma'am." He dwindled off as she raised an eyebrow and then nodded abruptly, "That was mighty nice shooting back there, Mac."
Mac laughed, "Thanks, Tommy. Let's hope I don't have to do it again."
"Amen to that."
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0600 Local
Mac awoke to the sounds of drums rolling and bugles braying throughout the camp. Hurriedly, she splashed water on her face and dragged the comb through her hair. When she got back to the wagon last night, it had been apparent that someone had been busy on her behalf - probably Fitzgerald. She found supplies laid out for her: a comb, toothbrush, small sewing kit, tin cup, claspknife, spoon, a polished piece of metal to use as a mirror and a haversack. He'd also assembled extra socks, another shirt and an overcoat to go with what she was already wearing. Not quite knowing what to expect, she had slept in the shirt and pants from yesterday. Stuffing her feet into her shoes, she threw on the uniform jacket and stuck her head out of the wagon.
Everywhere was the controlled chaos that bespoke an imminent move. She stepped out of the wagon and looked around. Tents were being struck, teams hitched, officers and non-coms moving quickly amidst the men. Mac headed to the area where Major Rabb's tent had been and ran into Sergeant Fitzgerald. He was mounted on a rangy dapple gray and leading a smaller, nondescript chestnut.
"Miss MacKenzie! The Major sent me to fetch you." He dismounted as he was talking and strode towards her, "I've brought you a mount." He paused for a moment, uncertain, "Do you know how to ride?"
Mac grimaced slightly, "Not well." Resolutely, she stepped forward and took the reins to the chestnut, "I guess this will be on-the-job training."
Fitzgerald gave her a confused look, "Ummm, yes ma'am." Once she was up, he remounted and turned to the left, "This way, ma'am."
They rode quietly for a few minutes, weaving through the bustle. Mac looked over at the Sergeant, "What's happened?"
He didn't answer but pulled up instead, putting out a hand to stop her as well, "Listen."
She sat there for a moment and then she heard it, a deep-throated rumbling. She looked at Fitzgerald, "Artillery?"
He smiled grimly, "Old Jube's fixin' to wake snakes and General Hunter's decided to advance in the other direction. We're part of the rearguard." He spurred his mount onward and Mac hurried her horse after him.
They came across the Major a few minutes later. He was dismounted amidst a group of other officers, drawing lines in the dirt. Finishing what he was telling them, Rabb glanced up at Fitzgerald and Mac, "Good morning." He swung up into the saddle and headed out, gesturing for them to follow along. He looked over at the Sergeant, "General Early's on the move again, Tommy, and we're supposed to slow him down at Harrisonburg. I want you to put Miss MacKenzie somewhere safe."
Fitzgerald looked like he wanted to protest, but all he said was, "Yes sir."
Mac thought about arguing as well but reconsidered. She knew very little about the weaponry of this time period and how it might affect tactics. Maybe she could convince the Sergeant to find her a safe place with a view. She glanced over to find Rabb watching her, "Yes, Major?"
"I trust you'll follow Sergeant Fitzgerald's orders?" Mac nodded and he smiled, "Thank you. Perhaps if the Secesh prove accommodating, you'll join me again for dinner?"
Mac smiled back, "I'd enjoy that, thank you."
Rabb's smile grew wider, "The pleasure is all mine, madam. I will see you tonight." With that, he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, wheeled his horse to the right and galloped off.
Mac watched him ride away until he was lost from view. She turned back to find Fitzgerald watching her appraisingly. She raised an eyebrow, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing at all," Fitzgerald said with what Mac considered to be a woefully inadequate attempt at innocence. "If you'll come with me, ma'am. We've got a bit of ride." He turned his horse and went in the opposite direction of Major Rabb.
They rode along in silence for several minutes before Mac finally asked, "Where are we going, Sergeant?"
"Towards New Market, ma'am. The supply and baggage wagons will be there under a light guard. It's far enough to the rear, so it should be safe." He glanced sideways at her to gauge her reaction. He felt more than a little relieved that she hadn't objected. She nodded once and then lapsed into silence, apparently absorbed in her own thoughts.
Fitzgerald studied her as unobtrusively as he could. Josiah Rabb was showing an interest in this woman and the Sergeant meant to see that he didn't get hurt. He'd run into Rabb as a newly-minted, wet-behind-the-ears 2nd Lieutenant and developed a liking for the young man. The Lieutenant had shown an uncommon amount of sense in letting his sergeants continue his military education. The Regular Army had been pretty small in those days, it wasn't hard to keep track. Their paths crossed numerous times over the years and when this war had broken out, Tommy had pulled in favors so he could serve in Rabb's command.
He glanced over at Miss MacKenzie again. He didn't know quite what to make of her. He didn't like masculine, uppity women on the whole. This one was obviously comfortable wearing men's clothing and although it was apparent that she wasn't an experienced rider, it was also apparent that she had learned to ride astride. Add that to the fact that she had easily flattened three men... he paused for a moment. To be scrupulously fair, she'd only truly whupped the tar out of Caine... and that was with one well-placed punch. The man had been wobbly for a good hour afterwards. She'd tripped Garrett using some fancy Indian-wrestling sort of move and then Jensen had managed to run into Garrett, knocking them both down. She hadn't let the Major intimidate her either. All in all, Fitzgerald decided he had more than ample cause to despise her... except that he didn't.
She was soft-spoken and polite, hadn't complained or whined about the situation she found herself in. Hadn't prattled on either, which was a blessed relief. With a dress on and her hair grown out proper again, she'd be right pretty. She was feisty and he suspected that was what really attracted the Major. Cassandra Rabb had been feisty, too.
"Sergeant Fitzgerald?" Her soft voice broke into his musings.
"Yes ma'am?"
"It's gotten awfully quiet."
It had. No birds sang and even the cicadas were silent. His eyes widened and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Damnation! Why hadn't he been paying attention? He didn't look at her as he said quietly, "Get ready to ride, ma'am." They went a few more steps and he let his mount drift half a length back. Suddenly, he yelled, "Now!" and brought the flat of his hand down on the chestnut's rump.
Gunfire erupted as the two horses leaped forward into a gallop. He heard the hornet-like buzz of bullets all around even as his horse stumbled and slowed. The gray managed a few more lengths before it collapsed. As the horse went down, Fitzgerald threw himself clear, rolling to a stop in the middle of the road. He scrambled to his feet and turned back in time to see four horsemen appear from the thickets on both sides. Cursing, he ran back to the gray. If he could get his carbine free, he might stand half a chance.
Pounding hooves behind him had his heart in his throat as he turned and saw Miss MacKenzie galloping back to him. "What are you doing?!! Get out of here!!"
She ignored him as she hauled her horse to stop, "Get on!"
"NO! There's no time! Get out!" He pulled the carbine out of the boot as he yelled at her.
Next thing he knew, she was beside him, watching the oncoming riders. "Give me your pistol!"
He stared at her, "What?!" More gunshots had them both crouching as the riders swept towards them.
Exasperated, Mac reached over and yanked the pistol out of its holster. Fitzgerald spared her one more startled look before raising the carbine and opening fire. She kept low and waited, the distance in which the pistol was accurate wasn't much. Mac held steady as bullets whizzed by. She had time to be amazed at the accuracy of the riders. She'd have sworn you couldn't hit anything from a galloping horse. That was just something Hollywood liked to do. One raider went cartwheeling off his horse as Fitzgerald's fire struck home. Then it was time.
Mac fired off three rounds and watched a rider suddenly slump forward. She was surprised she'd hit anything, the heavy revolver kicked like a mule. Then she was throwing herself to one side as the remaining riders charged past. A spray of bits and slivers of stone peppered her as bullets slammed into the macadam surface of the road. She kept rolling and came up on her knees, pistol braced in both hands. Mac hazarded a quick glance over at Fitzgerald and sucked in her breath. He was down and curled on his side.
The rapid clatter of hooves dragged her attention back to their adversaries. Again, Mac was forced to wait for them to come into range. She only had time for one target as she squeezed off two more rounds. One more assailant tumbled from his horse and then she was scrambling once again to get out of the way of the other. She'd waited too long this time and went spinning as the horse's shoulder clipped her own. She caught herself on her hands and knees, wincing as the sharp little stones cut into her palms. She had lost the pistol during the collision and she cast about frantically trying to locate it before the remaining rider came back to finish her off.
Hoofbeats and gunfire told her she had run out of time. She lunged for the carbine near Fitzgerald as more shots spattered around her and came up swinging it like a baseball bat. She connected with a satisfying thump, knocking the last man clear out of the saddle. He landed on his back and his head made contact with the road with a sickening crunch. He didn't get up again. Mac stood there numbly for a little bit, surveying the carnage and then remembered the Sergeant.
She hurried over to him and lowered herself gingerly on knees already sore from their last contact with the road. "Sergeant? Can you hear me?" Carefully, she rolled him onto his back. At least he was still breathing. Blood was oozing from where he had his hands clamped to his side. She grabbed his wrists and pried unsuccessfully at his hands. He had a grip like iron. "Dammit, Fitzgerald! Let go, so I can see!"
"You... oughtn' ta swear... like that... Not ladylike," the Sergeant wheezed, opening one eye. He still hadn't relinquished his grip.
Mac stared at him in exasperation, "So sue me! Let go before I say something worse!" He loosened his hands and she pulled them away. The wound was halfway up his side. She started unbuttoning his coat, and then his shirt and he swatted ineffectually at her hands.
"What are y' doin? That's not proper. The Major..."
"Will not be pleased if I let you bleed to death. Hold on a minute, I'll be right back." She climbed to her feet and cautiously approached one of the horses that was now grazing at the side of the road. It rolled an eye at her and then continued to eat. Mac lifted the canteen off the saddle and then checked the saddlebags. In the second one, she found a flask wrapped in a shirt. She grabbed them both and hurried back to Fitzgerald.
Kneeling down again, she ripped a sleeve off the shirt and wiped at the blood. Then she picked up the flask and stopped for a moment over the wound. She glanced at Fitzgerald, "This is going to hurt."
He raised an eyebrow, "Darlin', it hurts already. Get to it."
"Right," She took a breath and then poured the liquor over the wound. Fitzgerald sucked in a breath with a hiss. Mac dabbed at the wound and took a closer look.
The Sergeant stared at her, "What?"
She gave him a quick look, "I think I can see the bullet." She pointed at his side, "It looks like it bounced off a rib and then slid around."
He grunted, "Must've been hit by a ricochet. Can you get it out?"
Mac looked at him in alarm, "Me? I'm no doctor."
"That wasn't what I asked. Can you get it out? I don't fancy dying from blood poison."
Mac didn't answer right away, sitting back on her heels. She took a quick look up and down the road. Flies were beginning to swarm around the bodies and the sickly sweet smell of blood was starting to get to her. They needed to get away from here. She took a deep breath and looked back at Fitzgerald, "I'll try." She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the claspknife. Opening it up, she picked up the flask and then paused, "Do you want any of this?"
Fitzgerald shook his head, "No ma'am, took a temperance oath a while back. Don't intend to break it now."
Mac nodded silently and splashed liquor on the blade and then more on the wound. Fitzgerald flinched but didn't say anything. She studied the area. It looked like the bullet had tunneled just under the surface from where it had deflected off the rib. If she cut lengthwise along the tunnel, she could probably pop it right out without having to dig. She glanced up at the Sergeant, "Get ready." Taking another deep breath and clenching her jaw, she began to cut. Less than a minute later, she was staring at a bloody, misshapen chunk of metal. Mac handed it to Fitzgerald and began ripping what was left of the shirt into strips for bandages. "This will have to do until we can get something cleaner on that. I don't want it to get infected."
"Yes, ma'am." He clenched his teeth as she pulled him upright to wrap the bandages around his middle. He took a swig from the canteen she offered and then laid back down.
Mac stood up, "I'll get the horses together."
"Just keep two and turn the rest loose," Fitzgerald told her. Mac nodded and headed out. Surprisingly, none of the horses had really gone all that far. In fifteen minutes, she was back with her chestnut and a sturdy-looking bay. The rest, she had stripped off saddles and bridles and turned loose. Fitzgerald eyed the pistol and holster she was now wearing. He wasn't going to complain, she'd earned the right to carry them.
Mac picked up the carbine and shoved it into the rifle boot on her saddle. She turned back to the Sergeant, "Ready?"
He nodded and together they got him to his feet. With his arm across her shoulder, they made it to the bay. He climbed and she shoved and they got him into the saddle. She was glad he wasn't a big man. He waited hunched over while she clambered onto the chestnut. Mac looked at him, "I have no idea where we are. Which way do we go?"
Fitzgerald nodded back the way they had come, "That way, we're closer to the front than to New Market." Together, they headed down the road. Mac kept close in case the Sergeant needed steadying. It had taken them an hour and twenty-three minutes to get this far down the road. It would probably take quite a bit more to get back.
Mac rode along, all her senses keyed up. The adrenalin rush was beginning to fade. Was this how it was going to be? Death by ambush? She could feel her muscles tense, anticipating the shot from an unseen assailant. Stop it, Mac told herself fiercely. If there'd been anyone else, they would have joined the first group. She looked up and down the road again and tried to relax. The scrapes on her hands and knees ached and her shoulder felt stiff where the horse had collided with it. She needed to stop worrying and be grateful she hadn't been hit. Medical care in this era probably killed more often than it saved.
Mac glanced over at Fitzgerald. He was still hunched over, looking straight ahead. She couldn't quite figure him out. Sometimes he seemed to regard her as a favorite daughter of sorts and other times like she was his cross to bear in this world. She gave a mental shrug, no doubt she confused him as much as he confused her. Mac scanned the area around them again and then looked at Fitzgerald, "Sergeant?" He turned his head slightly to look at her. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "Who were those guys?"
Fitzgerald gave her a look that she was beginning to classify as 'Wrong Century' and finally said carefully, "Bushwackers or irregulars, one of the two. I shoulda thought about it and gotten an escort. These blue coats might as well have bull's eyes painted on 'em. Just the two of us made a mighty tempting target." He was silent for a few strides, "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" He couldn't think of many women who could hit the broad side of a barn with a horse pistol. Hell, a lot of men weren't that good at it either. He, himself, only used it in close quarters - usually when he was within five or six feet.
Mac thought about it for a little bit. The truth, the U.S. Marine Corps, would hardly do. Apparently, women didn't use handguns that often. Finally, she opted for a version of the truth, "My uncle taught me. He's a Marine."
Fitzgerald grunted thoughtfully, he owed that fellow a drink if he ever ran into him. Slowly, they continued down the road. After a few more minutes, he looked over at her, "Miss Sarah?"
Mac looked at him in surprise, he'd never called her by her given name before. "Yes, Sergeant?"
"Thank you."
She gave him a warm smile, "You're welcome."
He looked down at his horse's mane for a moment and cleared his throat, "My friends call me Tommy."
Mac looked at him gravely, "Thank you, Tommy." Then she grinned at him, "My friends call me Mac."
His eyebrows rose, "Mac? That don't seem hardly proper, ma'am." He dwindled off as she raised an eyebrow and then nodded abruptly, "That was mighty nice shooting back there, Mac."
Mac laughed, "Thanks, Tommy. Let's hope I don't have to do it again."
"Amen to that."