Hurrah for Dixie (Part IX)

	"Captain?" you exclaimed, "You're going to make ME captain? I'd hardly have any men to lead!"
"I know that, boy-o," he said while tucking his reading glasses back in his vest pocket, "but this isn't about being in the 12th anymore. Consider that regiment dead, like most of its soldiers."
	"Not being in the 12th? What are you talking about, Colonel?"
	"What he's saying," General Jackson began, entering the tent without the colonel's permission, "is that the 12th South Carolina Infantry will be officially disbanded as of tomorrow. You simply don't have enough men left, and we're a bit too far into this war to pick up volunteers back in your home state. Taking some troops from all the other South Carolina regiments wouldn't be feasible either, so Colonel McCroskey and I have simply decided to dissolve this one."
	"...That's it, General? The 12th is no more?" you asked, astounded at the revelation.
	"The 12th is no more", he repeated.
"Well, hold on, sir," you quickly inquired, "What'll become of the remaining men, and in what regiment will I be captain?"
	He shot a glance at McCroskey before reinserting his pipe into the corner of his mouth. He took a long drag and exhaled, preparing to deliver his other statement.
	"Lieutenant, the colonel and I have also decided to make a generous offer to each surviving soldier. They can either be granted discharge papers, or be assigned to another SC regiment. The Confederate army can spare less than fifty men, especially ones as battered as the 12th boys. I presume you and Dixie will want to keep fighting, is that right?"
	Without hesitation, you nodded in approval.
	"Of course, General. I have some... unfinished business with a certain Yankee officer, and Dixie would kill me if I pulled her out of the military."
He gestured towards you with the pipe and smirked, grateful, yet not surprised at your choice.
	"Excellent, Lieutenant. I'll send some letters to all the nearby South Carolina regiments, asking if they have any captain-less companies, and I'll see to it Dixie serves under your command."
	"Thank you, sir!" you happily responded with a salute, forgetting the responsibility of the new rank.

	Jackson and his men pulled out of Manassas on the night of the 29th, and Pope gave chase the next morning, not expecting Lee and Longstreet to ambush him. Being attacked from two sides, Pope retreated back to Washington. Morale in the Confederacy skyrocketed, while it inversely plummeted up north. The war-interested civilians were miserable, but the federal troops were dirty, tired, AND miserable. A cramped public park was where the 8th was now camped out, with the Capitol Building visible over the tree line, its dome obscured by scaffolding.
	Maggie's new arm was carefully inserted into her shoulder's socket. The slightly darker color of the wood stood out against the rest of her body, but all military droids and nurses inevitably learn not to care about trivial imperfections. As long as the limb worked, that was all that mattered.
	"Does it function properly? Can you move it fine?" the Engineers lieutenant asked, backing away from the table to give her room.
She slowly twisted her arm around in several directions to answer his question. She looked at him with a serious expression that Colonel Angel and the other bots were accustomed to.
	"It works fine, sir. Thank you."
	She briskly stood up and grabbed her undershirt and sack coat off the table, knowing she had a long line of other damaged 8th soldiers behind her that needed repairs. Buttoning them up as she exited the makeshift hospital, a figure stopped her in her tracks as she had just stepped outside. The sky, with the sun almost visible over the horizon, painted everything a hazy dark blue, but the man's commanding stance and voice immediately gave away his identity.
	"Private Maggie, I'd like to have a word with you in my tent," he said sternly.

	Removing your coat and holding it over your shoulder, you needed to cool yourself from the humid air. You wiped the sweat off your face with a handkerchief you removed from your coat's pocket beforehand and tugged at your shirt collar to get a breeze on your damp chest. You thought of your pistol back in your tent, and debated if you should scrub out the "12" on the handle and replace it with the number of whatever new regiment you'd be assigned to.
	Scanning the countless tents and campfires in the pre-dawn light, you couldn't see your bot anywhere. It was only after wandering for a few minutes when you spotted her sitting alone on a horizontal log, reading a book by the light of a fire. Hearing you coming closer, she glanced up and set her book on her lap.
	"Mornin' Lieutenant Anon! Care to sit down?" she asked chipperly, patting the empty space next to her.
"Sorry, Dixie, but I'll melt if I step any closer to that flame," you jokingly replied while wiping your forehead again. "What are you reading, anyhow?"
	She closed her book and extended it towards you, but you had to hold it at the right angle for the light to show its title. It was your "borrowed" copy of Macbeth, which you had only read to her twice since she escaped from the Union encampment. It appeared she lost her patience and was reading it on her own schedule. You lightly smacked your temple in self-disappointment.
	"Oh, I'm so sorry! I keep forgetting you like me to read this to you!" you apologetically exclaimed.
	"It's okay, Anon. I didn't want to nag you to do it, so I'm goin' at my own pace, if you don't mind."
You handed the book back to her and rolled up the sleeves on your undershirt in an effort to combat the humidity.
	"Look, why don't you walk with me for a bit?" you requested, "I've got something important to tell you."

	With a grunt, Colonel Angel sat down on his bed, attempting to compile his strong emotions into sentences. Maggie just stood and silently watched while he put his hands to his face in frustration. Many minutes went by until she couldn't bear his muffled growls any longer.
	"Is there something you wanted to speak to me about, sir?"
He inhaled deeply and forcefully removed his hands from his head. Though he still stared at the ground, he finally spoke.
	"Some time ago," he quietly started, "President Lincoln sent me a telegram. He wanted me to find a "Dixie" in my regiment that the Union army could flaunt, just like the South. At Oak Grove, I saw great potential in you, and I gave you a very simple task. Do you remember what that was?"
	"Kill Dixie on sight, sir?"
He lifted his head and his somewhat bloodshot eyes met hers. He aggressively nodded his head, and combined with his odd exaggerated smile, it made Maggie question his sanity.
	"That's exactly it, hon! Sounds so easy, doesn't it?" he ejected, "I guaranteed Mr. Lincoln that you would do it at our first engagement with her regiment! I described your handiness with the musket and bayonet, and how you used them with such..." He leaped off the bed and leaned in mere inches from her uncomfortable face. "...beauty", he whispered. He then started to pace around her in a circle, as she did to Dixie days ago on the battlefield.
	"But," he added, "...you didn't do it."
He audibly inhaled again and raised his voice. "Several newspapers were counting on my confirmation of Dixie's death, yet at Bull Run, I saw you standing over her, lingering! God gave you a clear opportunity to kill her, but WHAT did you tell me that evening?!"
	He stopped walking and planted his face close to hers again, waiting for a response. Her eyes were unmoving and serious, typical of a hardened soldier being grilled by their superior, but his were wild and exasperated.
	"...I told you I didn't do it, sir" she emotionlessly stated, "and I still believe I didn't have enough time. The Southern reinforcements were charging towards-"
	"-Oh, so more time would have helped, huh?" he condescendingly interrupted.
She defiantly turned her head towards him, growing more irritated by the second. Even though she knew the outburst this would provoke from him, she wanted him to see it was partially his fault.
	"Yes it would have, sir, and it would have also helped if an order was given to load my musket before the charge."

	"So, how's the new eye been treating you?" you asked, gently swaying with each step as you walked past the long row of tents to your left. The crate of replacement limbs Sam ordered back in the spring had once again come in handy, quickly restoring the vision in both of her eyes.
	"Oh, it's been workin' just fine," she remarked before abruptly changing the subject. "-Have you read Macbeth before, Anon?"
	"Yeah, why?"
She let out a chuckle and shook her head. "I have no damn clue what Shakespeare is sayin'! There's a reason nobody talks like that anymore!"
	You laughed in response and smiled, looking at her face. The replacement eye didn't stand out beside its counterpart, causing you to momentarily forget which one was broken to begin with. She rarely took off her gray kepi since the summer began, which naturally flattened the hair on the very top of her head, but its messy and curled state around the sides persisted. Even after all this time, it remained hard to believe this cute little droid was such a skilled killer. If she were a human male, like every other southern soldier, her chipper attitude would still seem out of place, given her vast experience.
	"Maybe if you let me read it to you, I could answer your questions about the plot," you pointed out, playfully pinching some of her dangling hair between your fingers. Since you didn't want to forcefully remove her hat and ruffle her hair, that was the most you could do. Besides, you liked the contrast of the neat top and messy sides.
	"Well," she reminded, "what's the important news you were gonna tell me?"
You let go of her hair and your smile fell, remembering the somewhat upsetting message you planned to relay. You stopped walking in preparation to deliver it and gently tapped her back to get her to stop as well. She turned and stared with those hopeful gray eyes that matched her kepi, making this task harder than you thought.
	"Uh... yeah, r-right," you mumbled, anxiously scratching the back of your sweaty neck, "the... uh... 12th will b-be disbanded tomorrow."
Her eyes widened as her face filled with dread, processing the statement before you could properly explain it.
	"...What?" was all she managed to squeak out. With the most difficult part out of the way, you calmed down as you readied the hopefully uplifting conclusion.
	"Yeah, but don't worry, our service ain't up yet. We're actually being transferred to another South Carolina regiment, ...where I'll lead your company!" you exclaimed with much more enthusiasm.
Most of the disappointment left her as quickly as it arrived. She unfroze and swiftly wrapped her arms around your neck as her smile returned.
	"Whew, that's awful good to hear!" She then leaned in as her eyes narrowed.
	"I'll follow you anywhere, Captain Anon..." she seductively whispered. Acting on impulse, you enveloped her torso in your arms and kissed her deeply, disregarding the thought of anyone watching.

	"...Don't you DARE blame this on me, Private!" Colonel Angel screamed, fighting the urge to slap her, "And if you talk out of line again, I WILL court martial you! Do I make myself clear?"
	"Yes, sir," she mumbled.
	He deeply inhaled and exhaled, surprised at his own temper. The sounds of nandroids chatting outside abruptly ceased after his outburst. Realizing that his tent wasn't soundproof, he forced himself to calm down, if only a little.
	"...Look, I'm going to be merciful this time. I'll give you ONE more chance and one only to take care of Dixie the next time we encounter her," he said while putting his hand on her shoulder, "and if you disappoint me again, I'll remove you from the 8th and reinstate your duties as a nurse."
	Maggie's eyes shot open in concern. The whole reason she volunteered to join the regiment back in March was to get out of the depressing hospital tents. She never managed to steel herself to the disgust of tending battle wounds. With or without anesthetics, she especially loathed assisting the surgeons in performing amputations, believing them to be less humane that just putting the poor soldier out of his misery. With that one threat, her rebelliousness gave way to submission.
	"I'll do it, sir!" she blurted out, "I promise I'll kill her, just please don't send me back to the hospital!"
His all too familiar sly and hyena-like grin filled her vision, which triggered a revulsion similar to seeing a bone saw plunge into a bloodied limb.
	"That's what I want to hear, Maggie. And remember that when you do it, you'll be granted the adoration of millions of civilians and soldiers alike!"
He returned his hand to his side and his smirk diminished.
	"That's all. You're dismissed."

	Separating your lips from hers after a few seconds, you heard a string band start playing in the distance. A fiddle, banjo, fife, and tambourine were instantly identified, but you heard no vocalists. Turning your head in the direction of the music, you could see the men gathered around another fire, somehow immune to the summer heat.
	"What do you suppose they're playin', Cap'n?" she curiously asked, staring at them as well. She unhooked her hands from behind your neck as you took a few steps forward, wondering that same question. The melody by itself didn't reveal the tune until the banjoist sang out.
	♫ "Well I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not long forgotten-" ♫
You quickly recognized the song, and were frustrated at yourself for not realizing it earlier.
	"It's the song you're named after, Dixie," you answered without looking behind.