Hurrah for Dixie (Part XI)

January 1865

	The tide had now turned against the South since 1862, and its defeat seems inevitable. Seeing attacks from several directions and being starved of resources from the Anaconda Plan meant the Confederacy could not win without a miracle from God.
	With each passing day, the Confederacy was losing ground, whether it be cities, towns, rivers, or open fields. With morale at an all time low, even Sergeant Major Dixie's presence was not enough to inspire hope within her army. For the past three years, she had turned down multiple promotions that would take away her musket, disliking the idea of being another pistol-wielding, order-barking officer. Anon, on the other hand, rose to the rank of Brigadier General, unknowingly achieving his forgotten dream of outranking his discharged brother.
	From small skirmishes to major battles like Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, and a few months at Petersburg, she had surprised herself that she managed to survive and participate in nearly the whole war. Yet, she was growing tired of it all. Even though her weakening hatred of the Yankees had mostly returned with news of General Sherman's infamous march through Georgia, the conflict had simply gone on too long to keep her interested. No matter who won, she just wanted to go back home to South Carolina with General Anon and wrap a blanket around him while watching the fireplace.
	What made January of 1865 so important was that a single decision she made would unknowingly affect her whole legacy after the war.

	It was a cold morning on the northern Virginia coast when a large steamboat pulled into the harbor. The small seaside town had become yet another Union stronghold months ago, with supplies being ferried in to the federal troops at a consistent rate. However, this ship carried no ammunition or rations that day.
	A ramp descended from its deck to the rocky ground as it stopped, and a brown-bearded Yankee officer descended and touched the Virginian soil. Wiping his nose with a handkerchief, he observed the gloomy gray sky overhead before stepping to greet another blue-suited gentleman.
	"General!" the man welcomed with a salute, "I see you've received my telegram!"
The bearded officer saluted in return before returning the rag to his jacket pocket.
	"Well, Colonel, I figured I should see our progress with my own eyes. You wrote that the army's almost reached Richmond?"
"That's right, sir!" the colonel exclaimed with a smile, "And that's no exaggeration either! Yesterday, the boys in my regiment said they could see the steeples of the churches! I honestly believe, General, that Lee will surrender within the week!"
	Instead of being impressed at the news, the general kept silent as he removed a tin case from his other inside pocket. Opening it and retrieving a cigar, he stuck it in the corner of his mouth but neglected to light it immediately.
	"Oh, I doubt the war will be over before the week ends, but I'm sure it will within a few months. These Rebs have put up a decent fight, even with a lack of materials," he mumbled as he searched himself for a book of matches. Upon realizing he didn't have one, he let out a frustrated grunt and looked at the colonel with an embarrassed grin.
	"I'm sorry, Colonel, but do you have a match?"
	"Of course, sir!" the colonel replied, eagerly grabbing a small box of them from the interior of his coat. He struck one against the side of the book and held it up towards the general. He leaned his head forwards and inched the end of the cigar close to the flame before a sudden gust of wind blew it out. The breeze had come from an entering cavalry officer, whose horse came to a screeching halt mere feet away from the two men, surprising them both. The man briskly dismounted his horse and gave a nervous salute to the space between them. His young face and uniform were covered in what looked like a combination of gunpowder, ash, and blood.
	"I'm so sorry to interrupt, General," he hysterically said to the bearded man before turning to the colonel, "but Colonel, a whole brigade of Rebs just popped up at sunrise and ambushed us. Last I saw, they've taken the trenches not far outside town and are closing in on this very location! We have to get the General out of here!"
	"Now hold on a second, Harris," the colonel interrupted. "We have several regiments and artillery batteries defending the town even behind the-"
	BOOM! A cannon blast struck the roof of the tall building next to them, sending large chunks of wood and tin flying. The three men rushed out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed by the debris, but the cavalryman's horse was not so lucky.
	"You see, Colonel?! Those must be our cannons being turned around!" Harris cried. Responding to the attack, hundreds of federal troops then came running down the road in a thick column, their rifles on their shoulders. The trio backed up against the wall of a house behind them to avoid being trampled, but their path to the boat was blocked.
	"Sir, we'll get you onboard as soon as these men pass through!" the colonel turned and shouted to the general over the sounds of stomping feet.
	As if his sentence was heard by the Confederates bombarding the town, two cannonballs immediately struck the ship in succession, causing it to turn over and slowly sink into the cold water. The general, still quiet during the siege, could only watch in horror as his escape route vanished. If he were captured, he wondered if the South might hold him hostage in exchange of a truce with the Union, or if Lincoln would simply appoint another general in his absence to end the war as originally intended.
	He was pulled out of his daydream by another nearby explosion, this one tearing a large hole in the column of marching troops. The colonel then grabbed both him and Harris by the backs and shoved them towards the opening.
	"Come on, gentlemen!" he screamed, "There are woods to the south we can evacuate through!"
	They darted across the path and ran down an alley between two shops. At the end of the narrow space, they halted upon seeing countless men in dirty gray uniforms charge past. When one saw them and pointed his musket in their direction, the trio turned around and scrambled back down the corridor, only for the colonel to catch the bullet in his back and drop dead.
	"We'll have to hide in one of these buildings, General!" Harris yelled as they reentered the street. The general reached the inside of the empty store opposite the alleyway before Harris did. The moment before the latter could enter, a cannonball exploded in mid-air and sent a swarm of shrapnel at the front of the shop. His limp body collapsed through the doorway and crashed on the wooden floor. Red stains were growing in size on his back as the general hobbled to him. Embedded in his leg were a glass shard from the window and a piece of metal shrapnel, but he would certainly survive if gotten to a surgeon. Harris, however, would be dead in minutes if he weren't already.
	The general turned him over to speak with him in his last moments, but his mouth was agape and his eyes were still. He was already a corpse. Not taking any time to mourn him, the general began to remove his sword belt and frock coat. In the event he was captured, it was imperative that the Rebs not know who he was based on his rank. Hearing multiple rifles discharge outside, he promptly dragged Harris' body out of the doorframe and slowly closed the door, praying there were no Confederates on the road that saw him.
	He was wrong.
	The door was kicked open shortly after as he was in the process of removing his coat. He let out a surprised yelp as he identified the intruder from countless sketches and photographs. It was a brown haired nandroid in an equally dark jacket -- a sergeant major, as he could tell by the sleeves. She peered down at him with a cold gaze that lacked any semblance of mercy. Her eyes briefly shifted to his three-starred shoulder straps, but he couldn't tell if she recognized him. The only motion she made was to aim her musket at his sweaty forehead. Even over the commotion outside, the gentle click of the hammer cocking seemed to echo throughout the whole room.
	"...D-Dixie... p-please..." he stammered between his heavy breaths.