Hurrah for Dixie (Ending B)

	"Sorry, darlin'," she emotionlessly stated, "I don't show mercy to Yankees, ESPECIALLY generals."
She forcefully pulled the trigger, and with a bang, his head flopped down onto the wooden floor, his upper face covered in blood. That statement she made wasn't particularly true by that point in the war, but she felt an uncontrollable urge to kill that man, whoever he was.
	In the safety of the empty shop, she decided to reload her musket before returning outside to the fight. Glancing down at the dead pair of men while doing so, she briefly wondered how the cavalryman died, but she didn't care enough to inspect his body. When she opened the door and peered out, she saw that the street was littered with Yankee corpses while small squads of Confederates were searching each building.
	"Lieutenant Irving!" she shouted to a red-haired officer across the road, "I just killed a three star Yankee general! His body's in here!"
Interested but unsure if she was just joking, he marched over to see for himself. Stepping around her as he walked through the doorframe, he didn't believe what he saw.
	"My God..." he whispered, "Is that General Grant?"
	"Hell, I don't know, sir. Is it?"

	News of Lt. General Ulysses S. Grant's death spread like wildfire through both the North and South, but as expected, both sides reacted differently. While the Union was in mourning and Lincoln in a panic to replace him, the Confederacy celebrated with his killer atop its shoulders. Before word got out of Dixie's triumph, you advised her not to openly admit to others what she did, (due to what happened the last time she got significant attention from the papers) but she completely ignored your suggestion. Though some were convinced that her involvement in his death was a lie to boost morale in the Southern military, they were drowned out by those praising her name.
	When the Union got word that she "murdered him in cold blood", President Lincoln officially condemned her as a war criminal and promised to have her arrested after the war's conclusion. To assume the role of commander of the entire Union army, he appointed Major General Ambrose Burnside to lead in Grant's place. Though he was not thought highly of due to his failure at Fredericksburg three years prior, it hardly mattered who was in control at this point. The Confederate army was splintered, starving, and exhausted. It was only a matter of time before the defense around Richmond was breached.

	June 1865

	At Manassas Junction once again, Lee surrendered his army to General Burnside after a valiant, but futile last stand. The grueling American Civil War was finally over. Despite the great trouble the Confederacy put the Union through, Lincoln insisted that their terms of surrender be very lenient. However, just shy of a week later, he was assassinated by actor John Wilkes Booth while watching an adaptation of Shakespeare's famed play "Macbeth".
	Knowing that the Yankees were out to capture her, you returned to South Carolina only for a short time. While you threw all your valuables into the back of a large wagon, you and Dixie debated where to indefinitely hide.
	"I think we should go to Mexico," you said while plucking the small paintings off the parlor walls, "the Yanks have no jurisdiction there!"
"But I don't speak Spanish, Anon," she protested, "and neither do you! It'd be best if we went northwest to one of them near-empty states! They got plenty of nandroids up north, so I won't stick out if I talk like a Yankee!"
	You slowly wheeled around and put down the armful of artwork in disbelief at her willingness to give up her Southern tongue.
"...First you hate 'em, and now you want to act like 'em?" you asked, "Did you, Miss Yankee-Killer, just say that?"
	Realizing her mistake, she looked down in embarrassment.
"Well, it was only an idea. I just figured it'd be easier for me to learn a new accent than a new language," she mumbled.
	Her idea of going somewhere desolate was smart, but you were hesitant to make her assume a new identity or assimilate into a foreign culture. You didn't want to go up north or stay on the East Coast, nervous that the Yanks would infest the states that were busiest during the war, like Virginia, Georgia, and the Carolinas. After scanning a mental map of the US, a nice open area seemed the safest.
	"Maybe there's a place where you wouldn't have to do either."

	She opened her eyes for the first time in days and surveyed your new home. It was a large and sturdy house in northern Texas, near the border of what would become the state of Oklahoma. After visiting Sam and saying a sincere farewell, you departed to the closest train station that still had an intact railroad, which was an arduous task on its own. Fearing South Carolina would be filled with blue-suited bastards as you left, you unwound Dixie and hid her within a large box of your classic literature. Thankfully, there were only a handful of Yankees around town, and without her visible at the front of the wagon, they didn't even look in your direction.
	As the train roared west through the dark woodlands of the Gulf states, you stared out the window at the almost-visible night sky, pondering if the move was permanent.
"How long will they look for her?" you thought to yourself, "I doubt she'd want to stay out of South Carolina forever... Hell, I don't want to stay out of South Carolina forever either! I want to see Sam and my parents again someday soon!"
	Your eyelids were growing heavier by the second. You'll worry about all that later, you decided, so you removed your coat and draped it over yourself like a blanket. Your last thought before you drifted off was: "I wonder if she'd find that boxcar comfortable if she were awake."

	"It ain't bad!" she announced with a hopeful grin, "How'd you manage to pay for it?"
"Oh, barren areas like this were cheaper than I expected," you answered while pushing the sofa across the long room, "but that's because the nearest town is a two hour walk away. We better stock up on plenty of food whenever we go."
	She smiled and walked over to you, not to help move the furniture, but to get a certain point across. "So, I guess we'll have plenty of privacy, Anon..." she seductively added. You didn't catch on at first.
"Yeah, and we'll have a lot of dry heat, too, given the fact that we're in the middle of a desert."
	Without reacting to your poor attempt at a joke, she silently inched closer and put her hand atop yours to get your attention. She had 'that' familiar look in her gray eyes. You completely forgot that this was the first night in a long time that you both were alone, but she hadn't.
	"Since we're all alone, why don't we have a little... fun... tonight?" she whispered while gently caressing your groin, "It's been a long four years, Anon, and I've been waitin' for some good ol' privacy with you."
	You began to sweat nervously. Half your brain was screaming in shock/confusion, but the other half was begging you to accept her offer.
	"Uh... sex b-before marriage is- is a sin, Dixie! You know that!" you blurted out, trying to stay pure and Holy. She didn't ease off her arousal at all upon hearing that. Instead, she leaned back and heartily laughed.
	"Did that ever stop you before, sugar? Besides, I think that rule only applies with other humans. I'm sure God'll cut us a break!"
You sighed and carefully removed her hand from your crotch. A disappointed frown fell upon her face shortly after, but a moment of staring into her eyes made you reluctantly change your mind.
	"...Fine," you quietly said, "we'll have some fun, but only AFTER I get back from town this evening, and not a minute before!"
Her lustful smile reappeared as she wrapped her arms around your neck, which she had been doing frequently for years.
	"That's exactly what I want to hear, darlin'! Come tomorrow mornin', you'll never think about another woman again!"
There was an awkward silence after you chuckled in anticipation. Without warning, she then shoved her head forward and quickly plunged her leathery tongue into your mouth. You protested for a second, but surrendered yourself after you recalled how great a kisser she was.
	"Mmnh, I love you so much, Anon," she moaned, momentarily breaking away, "I always have, and I always will."
Hearing her say those words at last sparked something inside you.
You realized your search for a soulmate was over. She was with you all along.
It was a blissful feeling similar to when you discovered her "resurrection" back in the spring of '62. In a state of pure ecstasy, you enveloped her in your arms and thin streams of tears started to flow down your cheeks.
	"I'll never let you go, Dixie. ...I love you too."

	You both eventually grew to appreciate the new way of life in Texas. While she grew an impressive garden in the backyard in spite of the dry climate, you found an easy job in town working at a leather shop. You would tell the owner, Mr. Vincent, detailed stories of every battle you and Dixie took part in. He admired you so much that after he passed in 1868, (and also because he had no next of kin,) he left you in charge of the business. You would later discover that it wasn't as profitable as you hoped, but it hardly lowered your spirits. Whenever you held Dixie in your arms, all your worries would disappear. For the first time, you truly felt complete.
	Those years in the desert were the best ones of your life, but in the early fall of 1879, she proposed that you both move back to South Carolina, believing enough time had passed since the war. The sole thing keeping you from instantly agreeing was deciding what to do with the leather shop.
	"To Hell with the leather shop, Anon! We haven't seen Sam or your parents in almost 15 years, and I'm tired of only communicatin' through letters!" she shouted with a scowl, "Don't tell me you don't wanna see 'em again!"
"I want to see them even more than you, Dixie," you countered while rubbing your eyes in frustration, "but I promised Mr. Vincent that the business would stay in good hands."
	Understanding your point of view, she calmed herself down and placed her hand on your cheek.
"From what little I knew of the fella, he seemed like he'd agree that family is more important than money, right? So why don't you sell or close down the place, then get another leather-related job in South Carolina, hon?" she asked with a comforting tone. "Maybe you could open up a store in his name, to 'carry on the tradition', or somethin' like that."
	The situation was that easy to solve. You'd get to return to your home state, but he wouldn't technically lose the business. Impressed at her quick thinking, you affectionately ruffled her hair, like you used to do before your relationship escalated.
	"I knew she was a great soldier, but I didn't know my wife was a spectacular compromiser, too!"
Her eyes shot open. "Wife?"

	The town was a vast improvement over when you last saw it. The rotting buildings were reconstructed, the famine had ended, and recirculated US dollars fixed the shattered Southern economy. Neither of you said it aloud, but you were certain she agreed that the Yankees might not have been so bad after all.
	Sam and his family were ecstatic to finally see you and Dixie again on the morning of your return. His son, Gabriel, who was a pre-adolescent boy when you departed, was now a full grown man that was already married. According to him, the town had become infested with "carpetbaggers" and their nandroids not long after you left. When they first came, he hated how they frequently insulted the native townsfolk, calling them losers and heartless slaveowners, but he soon became infatuated with a kind girl up from Connecticut.
	When he introduced her to you that afternoon, you thought he was trying to pull a strange prank. Her body was so muscular that it rivaled a circus strongman, which was a very jarring sight to say the least. She explained that she had been performing voluntary manual labor since she was a child, and worked at the docks loading and unloading heavy crates as a teen, but you had trouble believing her.
	"Lifting boxes alone doesn't get you a physique like that," you said while trying not to sound too offensive.
"True, true," she agreed in a gruff voice that matched her appearance, "but that's why I train a lot. Carrying heavy household items all day does the trick, General. Watch this, for example..."
	She circled behind Gabriel and lifted him up with little effort. In a "reverse-bridal carry", he jokingly said out loud: "Sometimes I forget who's the man of the house!"

	It was a very interesting dinner that evening. At the busy table sat you, Dixie, your parents, Sam, Emily (his wife), Gabriel, and his burly wife. Question after question was exchanged between you and the party, ranging from war stories to descriptions about desert life. When the topic of love came up, you chose not to bring up your unofficial marriage to your droid, fearing they'd declare your intimate relationship an abomination. Instead, you came up with a vague, yet acceptable answer.
	"There weren't many women in the desert, which is half the reason why I came back," you replied with a half-hearted grin. Dixie shot you a confused look at your lie, but quickly gathered that you wanted to keep your love a secret.
	Once the meal concluded, Gabriel and his wife left, along with your parents, and while Emily cleaned the dishes, only you, Sam, and Dixie remained in the room. It was a strange moment when you three noticed this, staring at each other in silence. It was the first time in well over a decade where you could speak in person. Sam wiped his bearded chin with a cloth napkin and unbuttoned the cuffs on his sleeves.
	"I know you two are a couple," he said nonchalantly without looking up, "I could tell right away."
Anticipating being scolded, you wanted to get the rebuke out of the way.
	"What, are you going to call me a sinner?" you defensively asked, "A robophile?"
He shook his head and glanced up at you without smiling.
	"Oh, far from it, Anon... She may not be human, but I think you're a lucky man. The bond between soldiers is something civilians can never comprehend."
Dixie chuckled, despite his serious demeanor.
	"You sayin' you'd marry your war buddies if you could?"
Sam finally broke and snorted with laughter.
	"Yeah, I guess I would, Dixie. After so long, they become more than friends," he then leaned over and patted you on the shoulder, "they become brothers."
"Thanks, Sam," you mumbled. He then looked back at the table and sighed.
	"If we had any liquor, I'd propose a toast to all those brave gray-suited boys, but you folks drank the last of it."
She then stood up with an excited grin.
	"Don't move an inch, boys," she announced, gesturing for something from you, "I'll go out and get some more!"
Accepting her request, you extracted your wallet from your vest pocket and handed her several Yankee bills. The last thing Sam yelled before she closed the door behind her was: "Now don't get too much!"
	To pass the time at the table, you started to recount key events from the war. You started off with the story of 2nd Manassas, and then the whole Colonel Angel fiasco at Sharpsburg. By the time you were reciting what happened at Fredericksburg, Sam cut you off as he stared at the tall clock on the opposite wall.
	"-Anon, Dixie's still not back yet and she's been gone for over an hour."
Spinning around and seeing that he was right, a little bit of worry snuck into your mind.
	"Oh... How far is the liquor store, again?"
"It's within walking distance of the house; the same one I took you to years ago. You think she got lost?"
	"Hell, she shouldn't have," you responded with a shrug, "she knew every shop in town before we enlisted, and nandroids don't forget things like that."
	Sam exhaled out his nose in irritation. "Well, if she's not back in half an hour, I'm going out to look for her."

	You awoke and lifted your head off the table with a grumble. A lone candle was illuminating the room only a foot away from your face, and squinting at the clock revealed it to be just shy of 11 PM. Even in the low light, it was obvious that neither Sam nor Dixie were there. You fell asleep not long after he swore to search for her, which after a fast calculation, meant that he had been gone for over an hour and a half.
	Now it was time to panic. Even at the most sluggish pace possible, the liquor store was not more than a 30 minute walk. You picked up the brass candle holder and took it to the entryway, where you removed your coat from one of the many hooks embedded in the wall and began to put it on. You were tired, but you quietly promised yourself that the next time you dozed off, it would be with Dixie in your arms.
	Opening the door with the candle in hand, you instantly saw a silhouette approach the front gate. Swiftly exiting the house, you sped up the walkway to reveal its identity. Getting closer, it turned out that the shadow was actually two people, one carrying the other.
	"Anon..." a male voice whimpered.
	It was Sam. He found her.

	Years ago, you thought she was dead for a day and a half, and "miserable" was not a strong enough word to describe how you felt then.
But your brief period of mourning was miniscule compared to what you felt every waking moment after that night in 1879.
	Two shotgun shells from an unidentified killer destroyed nearly every working part in her head, and to replace them would mean she would have the mind of a factory new nandroid upon reactivation. The murderer struck when she was halfway back from the liquor store, in a grassy area free of any light or buildings. The alcohol was stolen while her body was lazily hidden behind a tree not far from the dirt path. To this, the sheriff claimed "they wanted her to be found and identified."
	It was never discovered who the killer was, or what their motivation was. Some claim it was a Yankee's revenge for General Grant's murder, while others say it was simply a bandit that wanted her booze and killed her when she resisted.
	The whole South seemed to grieve at the loss of their greatest soldier. An estimated 20,000 people gathered near the center of town for her memorial service, but the bewildered priest hardly knew what to say. He outright admitted to the audience that he didn't know if nandroids have souls, but once you took to the stage and delivered a lengthy speech of her multiple heroic deeds, the crowd collectively believed they did, or at the very least, SHE did.

	Brigadier General Anon Ardwick spent his last several years in South Carolina, where he opened the successful store chain "Dixie's American Leathers", which to this day, retains its original name and logo. The general died of consumption in 1891 to little publicity and was laid to rest on the plot of empty land that his house once stood upon.
	Dixie's body was buried right in front of the town hall, below the spot where a towering statue was erected not long after her death. Similar sculptures and memorials were later constructed all over the former Confederate states as well, but all would come down one by one entering the 21st century.
	The only statue that remains is the one within her hometown, and in June of 2017, a visiting college student from California lobbied to have it removed.
She was found decapitated in her hotel room the next morning, along with a paper message placed on the nightstand. In neat, cursive handwriting, it read: "Don't touch my statue, Yankee."
	The unexplained case went nowhere when the FBI found no fingerprints on the note, no signs of forced entry into the room, and no visible intruder in the security camera footage. The superstitious townspeople were not shy in informing the men in federal uniform who their culprit was, but it was unlikely that an almost 140 year old wooden cadaver would be dug up and put on trial.

THE END