Hurrah for Dixie (Part VIII)

August 1862

	After escaping from the Yankee's clutches and receiving one last promotion from (former) Colonel Ardwick, Sergeant Major Dixie soon became recognized across the whole Confederate army. Being interviewed by countless newspaper reporters had gotten her attention from civilians as well. A scout sent out to Pennsylvania even brought back a paper to reveal she was written about up North too. However, the tone of that article was much different than any Southern story she read.
	"Numerous officers and enlisted men in the Union army are starting to regard her as a larger threat than the average soldier. When asked about her, Colonel Thomas J. Angel of the 8th Connecticut Volunteers had this to say: "If I were a private, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. She made a grave mistake of gaining popularity, and I have appointed someone specific in my regiment to fight her directly if seen on the battlefield. In a firing line of Rebs, she'll stick out like a sore thumb, and my girl is an excellent marksman."
	"Girl?" you mumbled, reading over her shoulder.
Dixie turned from the paper to you, wondering if this meant what you thought it meant.
	"You reckon they have a fightin' droid on their side like me?" she asked, somewhat concerned.
	"It sounds like it," you said grimly after a pause.
She let out a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Looks like I now got a damned assassin to deal with!"
	Not wanting to further put her on edge, you tried to be reassuring.
	"Hey, you're not a bad shot yourself, Dixie," you reminded, "Don't worry about her. If you can effortlessly kill a Yank, you can trash another bot just as easily."
"Yeah," she said with rising faith in herself, "with any luck, SHE'LL be even easier to spot than me, and I'll take her down first!"

	You had fought in several engagements and skirmishes throughout the summer, but aside from collapsing from the intense Virginia heat one July day, nothing very noteworthy occurred. Dixie continued to drop Yankees at an impressive rate, Colonel McCroskey often led the 12th to victory, and you had learned what was required of you as a lieutenant. You were relieved you didn't have to carry a rifle anymore, but you yearned to contribute more than just assisting Captain Wilkes in maintaining order within the company. Your pistol, (which Dixie was touched to find her name carved on the handle) didn't feel as rewarding to kill with as a musket once did.
	The end of August was more eventful to the 12th than most of the spring and summer. After 2 exhausting days of marching, which you still never got used to, you had reached the Union supply depot at Manassas Junction. A year prior, the Yanks suffered an embarrassing defeat there at the battle where "Stonewall" Jackson got his famous nickname. Now, he was assigned to cut off General Pope's line of communication.
	On the glorious night of the 26th, you and several other regiments under Jackson's command raided and burned that supply base. Before entering, you and Dixie agreed to get "souvenirs" that could be displayed over the fireplace after the war ends. You worried that if you took something too large or heavy, you would have to lug it around for the rest of your service. While you immediately settled on a navy blue kepi that could easily fit in Dixie's haversack, she neatly folded up a U.S. national flag and stuffed it in there as well. In the chaos of men running around with their treasures and the officers making no effort to control them, you saw several soldiers of varying ranks sitting on the floor, slipping on new pairs of socks and brogans. You stopped and lifted up your right leg to see the underside of your foot. The soles on your shoes were close to falling off, and large holes formed in your socks weeks ago that had yet to mend themselves. Seizing the opportunity, you told Dixie to wait outside as you briskly moved to the disheveled piles of shiny leather brogans and gray woolen socks.
	After every man left the building, torches were lit and thrown through the windows. Flames quickly enveloped the depot as you both watched in awe, but you regretted not getting something for Sam. Maybe you'd pull something interesting off a dead Yankee and say that you got it from there.
	"Hey, Anon," she nudged you in the ribs, taking your attention away from the blaze, "look what else I got while you were tryin' on shoes!"
She pulled out a pistol from a new holster on her crowded belt, and the orange glow of the great fire reflected off the barrel like a mirror. She wasn't supposed to carry one, being an NCO that already wields a musket, but no officer would decide to confiscate it from her.
	You wondered if she felt she needed extra defense against the droid mentioned in the paper.

	At dusk on the 28th, after you moved into the forest and hills not far from the depot, Pope's men appeared and started a firefight. Even with the low lighting, you tried to keep an eye on both Dixie and the Yankee forces to see if a nandroid was in their ranks. Once they retired for the night, she claimed she never spotted one, which put you both at ease. Hopeful that the battle tomorrow would go on without any complications, you lay atop an unfolded blanket on the hard ground gazing up at the stars. In the pitch darkness, it was unlikely anyone could see Dixie straddling your thigh and kissing your neck. However, you got odd glances from the other men the next morning, as she had wound down and was frozen in that position when the sun rose. After reluctantly downing some bitter coffee to help wake yourself up, you could hear shots ring out in the wide mess of trees ahead.
	"ALRIGHT, LADS! FALL IN BY COMPANY AND PREPARE TO MOVE OUT!" Colonel McCroskey shouted, bringing you and Dixie to your feet and towards Captain Wilkes. He was a tall and skinny young man with large blond mutton chops, and blue eyes that consistently filled with fear during every engagement. Despite outranking you, he was no calmer under fire than an enlisted man at his first skirmish. Standing beside him, he seemed relaxed now, but that would certainly change in a few minutes.
	With the gunfire ceasing again, you felt safe enough to pull out your pocket watch. It was just past 10, much to your surprise. It seemed like just moments ago you emerged from the other side of the woods and opened fire on the federal troops. Occasionally over the past few hours, they'd retreat and reform, and a reserve regiment would take their place, all the while the 12th filled them with bullets. Unfortunately, with your regiment being the only one in the area defending this forest entrance, you were taking heavier casualties than you anticipated. McCroskey had sent a courier out to General Jackson asking for reinforcements, but he received a message back saying that all his forces were busy fighting the main body of General Pope's division. However, he would send some help as soon as he could. Enduring wave after wave was taxing on your numbers, but you prayed after seeing them fall back once more that they wouldn't return.
	"George, what the Sam Hill is that noise?" you overheard one riflemen ask another. You glanced up from the watch, wondering what they were hearing. You didn't make out any sounds in the distance at first, but then something arose from the silence. It sounded like a high pitched war cry over the edge of the hill, growing louder every second.
	"They're coming again, boys! Get ready!" Captain Wilkes yelled with a tinge of fear. The few men that hadn't yet reloaded their muskets furiously shoved rammers down their barrels in a panic. Peaking over the horizon, the source of the odd sound revealed itself as another Yankee regiment charging towards you, but something was different about this one. You squinted to try and see them better, and noticed the men had slimmer physiques and longer hair spilling out from underneath their hats.
	The rumor was true.
"Shit, they're all nandroids!" Dixie exclaimed. Without blinking twice, McCroskey barked his usual orders.
	"BATTALION, MAKE READY! TAKE AIM!"
The bots did not slow down. They were determined to skewer you, and being lightweight machines, they alarmingly ran faster than normal soldiers. You unholstered your pistol in preparation.
	"FIRE!"
You saw many fall through the shroud of smoke, but that didn't stop the others from stepping over them.
	"AFFIX BAYONETS, DAMNIT!"
The men around Dixie did so with haste, but she instead grabbed her own pistol and aimed it forward, squeezing off a round at the bot directly opposite. Piercing her head, she dropped instantly and a droid behind her tripped over her body and faceplanted on the grass. They were within twenty feet when you pointed your revolver at one running straight for Dixie. Due to the distance, your bullet struck her arm and caused her to drop her musket from one hand and stumble. Before you could cock the hammer back and fire again, they reached your line and all Hell broke loose.

	Dixie pulled the hammer back on her own pistol, moments away from shooting that injured droid when she suddenly swung the musket like a club, knocking the gun out of her hand. She made a motion to unsheathe her saber, but the bot tackled her to the ground. She delivered a hard quick jab into Dixie's right eye, creating a large crack in the glass lens and causing her to yelp. Before another blow was struck, Dixie shoved her off and got on her feet. In the spare second, she unsheathed her saber and lunged at the droid. Like a skilled brawler, she dodged every single swing and threw in counterpunches at her head. After performing several slashes that missed her opponent, Dixie filled with rage. Her movements became hard and fast, but lacked any precision, which allowed her enemy to wind up and deliver a haymaker into her damaged eye, causing it to completely shatter.
	Her assassin had arrived.

	You were too busy defending yourself from the cute blue onslaught to keep an eye on Dixie. You weren't sure if she already killed the reddish-blond one you shot, but you couldn't see over the carnage even if you weren't preoccupied. Expending all six shots in your pistol, you didn't have time to reload it, so you removed your sword from its scabbard, prepared to hack through these droids. Captain Wilkes was to your left, still dispensing the ammo in his revolver when he was suddenly stabbed through the back, letting out a cry that caught your attention. His killer pushed him to the ground and revealed himself to be a Yankee officer, a human. His hair was brown and shaggy, hanging down from the back and sides of his cap, and his bushy mustache almost fully covered his mouth. You stared for a second before he shot you an evil grin. His whole face contorted when he smiled, the bottom half becoming very angular and his eyes narrowing.
	"She's yours, isn't she, Ardwick?" he asked with a sly tone.
Hearing your enemy, a total stranger, call you by name caused you to freeze in shock. Before you could ask him how he knew your identity, he thrust his saber towards you with a yell, but you deflected it at the last possible moment. In the ensuing swordfight, he acted as if he was dueling with a man that personally wronged him. Despite the fact you had never seen him before in your life, he knew your name and fought like he hated every fiber in your being. Luckily, he wasn't as skilled with the sword as you were, so defending against him didn't take all of your effort.
	"My Maggie is already making short work of her," he smugly said between strikes, "and I'll do the same to you, Lieutenant!"
"I wouldn't count on it", you replied, copying his confidence. You lifted your leg and delivered a swift kick to his gut, sending him stumbling backwards. His attempt at being intimidating didn't work at all, given his weak ability.
	"KILL ANYTHING WEARING BLUE, BOYS! CHAAARGE!" someone yelled from behind. Quickly turning around, you saw that the reinforcements from General Jackson had finally arrived. A large wave of brown and gray coats, (the 5th Alabama and 17th Georgia) came swooping in to turn the tide against the mechanical force. Seeing he was outnumbered, the Yank officer panicked and ran while screaming, "RETREAT, GIRLS! FALL BACK!"

	Dixie lay on the ground again dazed while Maggie slowly circled her above, planning to savor her kill. Though she paid no mind to the bots around her, she grabbed her dropped musket with her working arm and planted a foot on Dixie's neck, holding her in place. Clutching the rifle with its bayonet inches above Dixie's forehead, she was about to plunge it in when she heard the infamous "Rebel yell" coming from behind. Snapping her head 180 degrees, she observed a long thick line of charging Southern soldiers closing in fast, while what remained of the regiment and her Colonel fled. She spun her head back to the near-unconscious body of Dixie, internally debating if she had enough time to kill her before running.
	"Next time..." she muttered, taking her foot off her neck and sprinting away.

	Not long after the 5th and the 17th drove away the robotic regiment, one of the two Colonels approached McCroskey.
	"Colonel, General Jackson wanted me to tell you you're relieved. Us and the 17th will defend this area from here, should they come back."
In spite of the victory, McCroskey still felt miserable, knowing most of his men were dead and fearful that the survivors would blame him for such a loss. He sighed and walked to an open area of the field with the least amount of corpses.
	"12TH, FALL IN BY COMPANY!"
As those that could still walk trudged to him, the situation was worse than he could have imagined. Counting the officers, the regiment now consisted of no more than fifty men across all the companies. He was ever so slightly pleased that both Lieutenant Ardwick and Sergeant Major Dixie survived, but their captain didn't, which meant...