- Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following. Each notice makes my day :) Here is the conclusion to my story, I hope you like it.
Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit. T for language and some sexy kissage.. Mild spoilers for 1.8.
Two weeks later
Miles rode near the front of a convoy of 2,000 militiamen. His seat was easy after years of practice. Miles hadn't really spent time with horses prior to the Blackout, sure he had ridden a few times at Boy Scout camp, but since the Blackout he had really come to appreciate horses.
The January air was crisp, and the double column of men walked – for only the officers were mounted – along what was once US Highway 1. They had passed Gunpowder Falls State Park an hour ago, and were now traveling along the highway, maybe 15 miles from the center of the Baltimore. The trees were bare, but for shrouds of still-green kudzu draping them some of them.
Miles was thinking of Nora, as was now typical. Nora was somewhere in the rear of the convoy traveling with the militia's munitions expert, a former chemist, and his wagon of supplies. Nora had settled Mia into the Officers' Dependents Dorm, most of the kids there were officer's bastards, and much younger than Mia, but Miles knew it was the best place for her. The Officers' Dependents Dorm had been one of Miles' better ideas. It was one of the perks of being a militia officer, knowing that your kids would be taken care of, even if you died in the line of duty.
Miles wanted to see Nora, but he tried to remind himself that he was a General, The General, and he should stop acting like a love-sick school-boy. He had thrown himself into this expedition as a way to distance himself from Nora, as a way to ensure he wouldn't put undue pressure on her. So she wouldn't assume anything. So the Militia wouldn't assume anything. So Bass wouldn't assume anything. But oh, how he wanted to see Nora, to trade barbs with her, to learn more about her, to feel her hands on his body.
The expedition approached the Gunpowder River, 8 miles from the border of the Baltimore Empire – the old 695 Beltway – and Miles continued to reminisce about Nora. The cadence of the horse's hoof-beats changed as the expedition moved from the asphalt of the highway to the concrete of the bridge.
When most of the troops were on the bridge, there was a thunderous boom. Miles dove off his bucking horse as only someone with IED-honed reflexes could. There was another explosion. The officers' horses were screaming in terror. Miles felt the bridge buckle.
"Get off the bridge!" he roared to his men.
As his feet took off on their own volition, his mind rushed to Nora. She was near the rear of the convoy. She shouldn't be on the bridge. She should be safe.
There was another detonation. The whole bridge gave way, starting at the end closest to the rear of the convoy. Miles began to run even faster. He was passing militiamen left and right.
Just as Miles reached the asphalt past the bridge, there was a deafening groan and the whole bridge fell into the Gunpowder River. Over the sounds of terrified men and horses, Miles could hear the thudding of his heart.
Sides bellowing, Miles starting looking around, taking stock of who had made it to this side, and trying to see how many made it to the other. Quick count over, he determined that he had almost 200 men, mostly raw recruits; there were about 400 men on the other side. Miles squinted, trying to see if one of the people on the other side wore civilian attire, but he couldn't.
He had lost 70% of his men from a bridge being blown out beneath them! Miles gathered the tattered remains of his expedition, mounted one of the few remaining horses, and headed downstream. He stopped to make sure the other group – presumably lead by Captain James Sorenson, the head of the rear guard, a reliable if unimaginative solider – was following suit.
Miles informed his men to keep an eagle eye out; they should expect more attacks. He didn't know if it would be better to turn tail and retreat back to Philly, or if staying the course would be better. He had time to decide. If he remembered right the next bridge was 5 miles downstream, at least 2 hours cutting cross-country, for the I-95 bridge was unusable. All Miles knew now, was that he wanted – no needed – to see Nora, to see that she was okay.
It was the longest two hours of Miles' life, and he had had some pretty long hours – especially in Iraq. The MD-7 bridge was out, so they had to go all the way to US-40, the last bridge before the Gunpowder River met the Chesapeake Bay. Despite Miles' concerns they hadn't been harried. Perhaps 180 men were just too many for whatever rabble blew up the bridge; however, Miles had a hunch that the Baltimore Slavers were behind it. What Miles didn't know was whether it was an opening salvo, or just a last ditch effort. Before they had gotten too far he had sent out a few men undercover to attempt to find the parties responsible, and bring them back for questioning.
After having the base of the US-40 bridge searched for any more bombs, Miles led his men over the bridge to await the other troops. That group contained the wagons, which couldn't travel easily cross-country, so they would have had to double-back a bit and take roads. Miles understood why they weren't here yet, but that didn't mean he liked it.
He sent a few seasoned corporals down the road, to scout for the other party, and directed the rest of the men to begin setting up and securing camp. Dusk would soon be upon them, and if the dick-wads were going to continue their attack, tonight would be most likely.
As Miles was reprimanding a raw recruit for digging the latrines too close to the river, he heard an increase in background sound. He turned around. The other contingent was approaching. He threw caution to the wind, and ran towards the other party.
As he approached the larger group, he suddenly started feeling very sheepish. Miles slowed to a slightly more respectable lope. He saw Captain James Sorenson, and jogged to him.
The Captain saluted and Miles asked for a report. Miles listened to Sorenson's report with less than half his brain. He searched the crowds. There, by a wagon. There she was. Miles interrupted the captain's report, said "Good job, Captain," and strode off – off to Nora.
Miles rubbed his left arm with his right hand in a very self-conscious manner. He forced himself to stop. Miles proceeded towards her.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. You?" She returned.
"Yeah," was his answer, he wanted to stare at his feet like a school-boy.
"Screw this," she exclaimed, and before he could blink, she had thrown herself at him. His arms wrapped instinctively around her slim form, hands resting on her lower back.
Her head tilted up toward his, "I'm glad you're safe," she said softly before capturing his lips with her own. Her lips were so soft, so warm, so inviting. He moved to deepen the kiss, and her hands grabbed the back of his head, and gently pulled him down, closer.
Miles tightened his hands about her lower back, gently pulling her up, closer. Nora tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of his head. Miles was glad he no longer wore his hair in a buzz-cut 'cause damn that felt good. Miles softly stroked her bottom lip with his tongue and felt her lips part. Miles felt Nora's tongue dart against his, and the combination of the sensation of tangling tongues, and of fingers twirling in his hair was indescribable.
Miles broke off the kiss, breathing hard. He looked around bashfully. He scrubbed at his scruff; all of the 600 militiamen under his command had just seen that display. So much for not putting any pressure on her, and keeping his feelings – no their feelings, for she just clearly illustrated she returned them – under-wraps.
After a beat or two, some scoundrel started clapping, and soon the whole regiment joined in. Chagrined, Miles turned his down to look at Nora, and asked, "So, now what do we do?"
Brazenly, she grabbed his hand, and placed it on her inner arm. Arm situated in a suitably Jane Austen-y manner, Nora led him towards the camp, seemingly unfazed by the attention of the crowd.
- Author's Note: This is the last chapter. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated, even if you read this fic in 2015, and laugh at how my hypothesis was disproven; if you liked it, make my day and let me know.