Hurrah for Dixie (Part X)

	The flag of the 12th wasn't particularly remarkable visually. It was a common square-shaped "Southern cross" battle flag, with gold letters printed that weren't readable at a distance. "12TH" was in the red space to the left of the center star, and "S.C." was to the right. What separated it from most other regimental flags was an addition at the bottom. In late June of 1862, "DIXIE'S REGIMENT" was officially inscribed below the center star in similar gold lettering.
	Staring at it for the last time was like seeing a decomposing body. Being exposed to intense sunlight and heavy rain had washed out most of the dark colors. On top of that, the bleached banner was torn in several places and riddled with bullet holes. Its current state seemed symbolically connected to the regiment itself, so worn out that it has no business still being in use. The day its disbandment was announced, newly-appointed Brigadier General Patrick McCroskey neatly packaged it and shipped it down to its only surviving former colonel.
	Though both you and Dixie missed the 12th and its familiar number, fighting in the 17th was hardly different, save for your higher rank. Much to your astonishment, being Captain was less stressful than you thought. You already knew most of the commands from your experience as a first lieutenant, and the fear of the rank's responsibility didn't last long.
	Hardly a week after your transfer and promotion, you wrote a letter to Sam; the first one in months. You weren't the kind of man that liked to describe every mundane experience on paper, but you decided this new rank was worth telling him about. To make sure your brief message was substantial enough to send, you let Dixie write whatever she wanted to him on the bottom half of the page. Looking it over after she was done, you didn't expect to see a very detailed depiction of her holding a revolver to the back of President Lincoln's head, completely oblivious to what's behind him. Like an acclaimed artist, she scribbled her signature below it, along with "Shakespeare is a HACK" on the very bottom of the paper. Needless to say, your hysterical laughter echoed over the whole state of Virginia.

	As September progressed, you found your company marching into West Virginia. Lee had a plan for invading Maryland, and it involved his fellow generals and their troops to capture specific towns in both states.
	Three days after you and the rest of Jackson's forces easily took Harper's Ferry, Lee ordered his divided army to regroup in Sharpsburg, Maryland on Antietam creek, where the bloodiest single day battle of the whole war would take place.
	The temporarily foggy morning of the 17th didn't seem any more panic-inducing than your previous battles. Of course, not being one of the interchangeable riflemen in the front made you feel quite safe, not to mention the long makeshift wooden fence your brigade stood behind. A few beams of wood wouldn't make the men bulletproof, but it would make defending against a bayonet charge easier, should one come. You stood not far behind Dixie, supervising her increasing kill count as you barked the same orders over and over again.
	"COMPANY, RELOAD!"
	"COMPANY, READY!"
	"AIM!"
	"FIRE!"
	"17TH, FIRE AT WILL!" Colonel Griffith shouted after only twenty minutes. You were just glad to give your vocal cords a rest while you observed who you were really shooting at. Whoever was in command of the Yankee troops must have not known what he was doing, as regiments would come through the trees and get mowed down by your artillery before they even came within firing range. Even if one would get close enough, the time it took for them to halt and aim would be long enough to get picked apart by your musket fire.
	Sharpsburg was unlike anything you had experienced at that point in the war. Entire Union regiments lay dead in front of you, from the privates to the colonel, with their colors ripped apart and unmoving on the grass. You felt great catharsis in seeing thousands of Yanks killed at your command, as if revenge on the North for the crippling of the 12th. Maybe, you thought, after the fight is won, you would walk down the field and take one of those flags to give to Sam as a war relic.
	"Captain Ardwick!" a grumbly voice called from behind, trying to cut through the booming sounds of rifles discharging. With no orders to give at the moment, you didn't hesitate to turn around. It was General McCroskey atop a brown horse, who you were not surprised to see leading your brigade.
	"Hell of a battle, isn't it?" he asked with a grin mostly obscured by his gray beard.
	"Ha! It would be if the Yankees put up a better fight, McCroskey!" you informally countered. Before he could add anything else, a great cheer erupted from the men. You swung back around to see only a handful of surviving officers and riflemen retreating into the woods.
	"RELOAD, MEN!" you automatically ordered, "THEY'LL BE BACK!"
With the gunfire ceasing, you looked back at McCroskey, who appeared impressed at your ability to command.
	"This is just pathetic! I doubt the Army of the Potomac is this small, so why don't they send more men?" you questioned over the sound of ramrods striking the bottoms of barrels.
	"Oh, the Yanks are probably more concentrated on the other flanks, busy with Longstreet and Hill," he explained, "but even if more show up, I trust our cannons will keep tearing 'em to pieces!"
	"Speakin' of which, Captain," Dixie interrupted, "here they come!"

	You saw a long row of blue-suited soldiers come rushing out from between the trees and onto the field with a yell. Counting the flags that weren't the stars and stripes, the brigade consisted of three whole regiments, about a thousand men each. Just as soon as they emerged, your cannons fired and scattered a few companies, but they were all charging too fast to suffer great damage from the artillery. It was like shooting a lone bullet at a swarm of ants.
	"FIRING BY COMPANY!" Colonel Griffith shouted, breaking the men out of their trance. You pulled your pistol from its holster, expecting an attempted charge over the fence. "12" was still etched into the handle.
	"COMPANY, PRESENT!" you shouted.
You stared at the center regiment that was closing in on you.
	"READY... AIM..."
The brigade suddenly halted and presented their own muskets. There was no time to delay giving your order.
	"FIRE!"
A split second after your company fired and dropped most of the front ranks, a line of recently deployed Confederate cannons erupted from their right, inflicting the delayed but extensive destruction. Still, it didn't stop the brigade from firing.
	A bullet cut into your right leg and a cry of extreme pain burst out of you. You collapsed on the ground and clutched where you were hit, but you knew you had to give the command to reload.
	"AAUUGH! RELOAD, GOD DAMNIT! I'VE BEEN HIT!"
A corporal broke rank and ran over to you, focusing on the growing red stain on the edge of your thigh.
	"Medic!" he yelled over the commotion, "Captain Ardwick's been hit!"
	"Anon, they're chargin'!" Dixie nervously shouted to you, forgetting to address you by rank.
	"Shit!" you muttered while extending your hand, "Help me up, Corporal!"
Getting to your feet, the agonizing pain persisted, but every second counted at a time like this. Jerking your head to look, you saw the regiment opposite was filled with nandroids, the same ones at Manassas weeks ago. Had you any more time, you would have prepared Dixie to properly kill her assassin.
	"COMPANY, FIRE AT WILL!"
	Grasping your revolver and shakily aiming into the robotic crowd, you saw neither the droid with long strawberry-blond hair or that slimy colonel, so you fired at the closest ones in rhythm with your company. Within seconds, the enemy brigade had reached the fence. Fortunately, the bots had more trouble climbing over the it than their human comrades, which gave your regiment more time to shoot or bash them with the stocks of their muskets. As for how the rest of your brigade was faring, you couldn't pay attention to them long enough to find out.
	As you typically did during a charge, you removed your saber from its scabbard, now having a weapon in each hand. Remembering what happened to Dixie at 2nd Manassas, you felt guilty about wasting your energy on that weak colonel while she almost got killed, so you shifted almost all your focus on protecting her. At one point during the chaos, a black haired bot charged at her, but both you and Dixie consecutively shot her with your pistols.
	"Anon, I have bullets and they don't! Worry about yourself!" she quickly turned and said with an irritated tone. The moment she returned her attention to the battle, a hard kick was delivered into your back, knocking you forwards onto the grass. You rolled over as fast as you could and the face of your foe was revealed. It was the Yankee colonel from Manassas, come all the way to Maryland for a rematch. Almost his entire left arm was missing and blood poured out of the shredded sleeve. Unnaturally, the presumed agony he was feeling had no effect on his arrogant behavior.
	"Remember me, Lieutenant?" he smugly asked, holding only his sword.
"It's CAPTAIN, now, Colonel!" you heroically retorted, swiftly aiming your pistol at his pale forehead and pulling the trigger.
	Click.
	He chuckled evilly and raised his saber to strike you, causing you to instinctively hold yours at a perpendicular angle to block it. Before he could attack again, you lifted your wounded leg and delivered a hard kick into his groin. The pain you both felt afterwards was indescribable. You knew you had a clear chance to swing at his head with your blade, but the stinging in your thigh was too much to brush off.

	"Where is she?" Maggie mumbled to herself as she calmly walked beside the fence, scanning through the carnage for her target. Not a Reb in sight was aiming out, as they were too preoccupied with the hundreds of Union troops that had already engaged in close ranged combat. Colonel Angel told her that Dixie would "stick out like a sore thumb" in a firing line, and while she did at Bull Run, she was hard to spot here. Was she with another regiment?
	She only figured she was here because minutes ago, Angel shouted at her for not doing her job, claiming he saw her in one of the companies. When her brigade was hit by cannon fire after exiting the woods, a ball tore off his arm in the blink of an eye. Seeing him still furious at her despite his horrible amputation fueled her growing animosity towards the colonel. Prioritizing a forgettable publicity stunt over his own catastrophic injury hardly made him any more noble, she thought.
	She stopped, loaded her musket unmolested by the Reb troops, and continued her careful search.

	With a lot of effort, you rose to your feet at the same time as the one-armed officer. The confidence in his whitened face was replaced with rage as he pointed his sword at you, only a few feet away. Extending your saber in return, you slightly hunched over to clutch your bullet wound with your undominant hand. After a few abrupt thrusts to fake you out, he let out an unexpectedly threatening war cry and charged at you.
	His attacks were a lot faster and more precise than the previous duel, and they were harder to deflect due to the awkward leaning pose you were stuck in. He just kept pushing forward, while you could only defend and pray another soldier would shoot or stab him from behind. Further and further back you moved until you were up against the fence. He flashed that awful grin at you and knew he at last had the upper hand. Preceding your skewering, a soldier from your company finally intervened and swung the stock of his musket at him, but the colonel dodged at the last possible second and stabbed him through the chest. While he was momentarily distracted, you let go of your leg and tightly grasped the saber's handle with both hands. You wound up a powerful diagonal swing with a strained grunt that accidentally regained his attention.
	Again, he avoided the strike and swung horizontally at your neck to decapitate you. A reflex took over and you craned your upper half backwards, dodging the killing blow, but falling on the other side of the fence.

	It took her almost ten minutes of scouring the busy fight to come across Dixie. She had her back turned to the wooden beams, aiming her rifle at someone out of view and firing. Likely killing her target, she dropped her musket and began the process of hastily reloading it.
	It was the perfect opportunity. She was totally unaware of anything behind her. Maggie raised her gun and cocked the hammer all the way back, pointing it at her brown-haired head.
	The instant before she pulled the trigger, a stray bullet smashed into her leg and its mechanics failed, causing it to give out underneath her. The sudden change in elevation lead to her collapsing and the shot narrowly missing her prey. Letting out a disappointed groan, she sat up and hurriedly reached into her cartridge box for another round.

	Backing away from the frenzied colonel with each blocked swing across the field, you saw distance growing between you and your company. Every man in the line had his back turned to you, which compromised your hope of someone shooting him from behind. Even Dixie would have already assisted you by now if she saw. Calling out for help was pointless, as the auditory overload of gunfire and shouting was too much for your voice to carry over, especially this far away.
	He lunged forward and his saber met yours, the blades stuck in an X shape as you both pushed against each other. His eyes were no longer full of uncontrollable fury, but derangement took its place. He bared his teeth as he forced his blade closer to your torso. If you could see your own expression then, you were certain it would have been full of terror.
	In one alarming swoop, your sword went flying out of your hands as his strength overpowered yours. With a wound that impaired your mobility and no weapon to effortlessly reach for, you were completely defenseless. This Yankee officer, a man with an ugly smile and an even uglier soul would be your executioner. The next step you took backwards was on a corpse, causing you to trip and fall.
	Shifting from the colonel's distressing gaze to the almost cloudless sky was jarring to your eyes. Bizarrely, any urge to get up and avoid your death was absent. Seeing the beautiful blue heavens for the last time comforted you, that is, until a hulking boot was placed on your chest. You peered up its wearer with an emotionless stare.
	"Don't worry, Ardwick," he concluded the clash by mockingly saying, "I'll take care of Dixie for you, if my Maggie hasn't already!"
He raised his saber in the air and leaned his arm back, preparing to cut your head in two. All you could do was close your eyes and exhale.

	Expelling her shot, Maggie's rifle was swiftly ripped from her hands and its stock collided with her head, knocking her down. Her attacker was a gray-suited old General, but what mattered was that her own bayonet was inches from her eye. Satisfied that she finally accomplished her goal, she had no motivation to put up a fight.
	"Your prisoner, sir," she stated. The musket was lifted to the man's shoulder as he extended his other hand.
	"All right, come with me, lass," the General replied.

	A moment after your expected death, he uttered a strange noise and you felt his weight remove itself from your chest. You shot open your eyes to see him fall over onto the grass, dropping the sword from his limp arm while blood pooled out the back of his neck. You hardly had time to appreciate that someone saved your life, because you heard a string of words that weren't pleasing from where you lay.
	"Fall back, men!" a faint voice rang out from the fence. Dozens of Yankees were climbing back over it to flee back across the field. Fearing being trampled or shot, you quickly rolled over and covered your head, becoming as still as another lifeless body to step around.
	While you heard the Union stampede rush at your sides, you thought of who your savior was. It was very likely to be Dixie, given that she was the only one with a musket that would assist you from a couple hundred feet away, but you didn't know for sure. Once the gunfire stopped and another Confederate cheer echoed over the grassland, you slowly stood up, grabbed your dropped saber, and hobbled back to the barrier.

	The battle concluded at dusk in what appeared to be a stalemate. It was true that the ground was held, but there was talk of Lee planning to pull back to Virginia given his loss in numbers. Both sides regrouped after the firing ceased to count their dead in the twilight. Your leg had been examined and bandaged by a battle medic, and much like your very first engagement, the bullet only grazed you. When he said that, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wouldn't warrant amputation.
	Walking with Dixie at your side, you were puzzled when she denied credit of shooting that colonel earlier. Tomorrow, you supposed you would have to individually ask each soldier in your company if they were responsible. As she was mentioning not encountering her assassin that day, she stopped herself short upon hearing a female voice.
	"There you are, Dixie!" this mystery girl said, "I haven't seen you since this morning!"
It was another nandroid, sitting on a small rock nearby in front of an armed guard. Her uniform was dark, but her chest-length bright hair contrasted it, and though she carried no weapons, Dixie still recoiled in mild fear. She then fixed her eyes on you.
	"Are you Lieutenant Ardwick?" she asked with a relaxed smile and an informal tone. Judging by Dixie's reaction, you protectively grabbed her and frowned at this Yankee droid.
	"Yes, I'm CAPTAIN Ardwick. Would you happen to be the gal that almost killed my Dixie?"
	"That's what I was ordered to do, Captain, but you both should appreciate that I didn't try it again today. I don't hate you, Dixie, or any of you Rebs for that matter," she confessed, returning her focus to her former target. "I was just following Colonel Angel's commands. My name's Private Maggie, by the way."
You released your grip on your bot, becoming more comfortable at speaking to her.
	"Oh, that's right. He mentioned you before, Maggie. Are you aware he was killed today?" you asked.
	"I am, sir, and I understand you're the one that did it," she replied matter-of-factly without a hint of blame.
"Well, that's actually not true, honey. Someone else shot him and saved my life."
	"No, you must be mistaken. YOU'RE the one that killed him, Captain!" she said with a big smirk, flashing you a wink. Catching on, you gave a smile in response.
	"Now I remember, Maggie," you playfully added, "Thank you very much... for reminding me."
She chuckled, further confusing both Dixie and the guard, who stood and silently watched the conversation.
	"It was no trouble at all, sir! ...It was quite a busy day here at Antietam, even I'm a bit scattered!"
"You mean Sharpsburg?" Dixie finally spoke. Maggie's smirk somewhat diminished at her confrontational tone.
	"Up north," she explained, "we like to name battles after the rivers they're fought by instead of the towns, like "Bull Run" instead of "Manassas". I don't know why we do it, but we do."
Dixie nodded, but kept her serious expression. "I've always wondered about that," she mumbled before walking away.
	"Don't worry about her, she's just uncomfortable around you right now. I'm sure she'll forgive you for your actions at some point."
"It's okay, sir. If I were her, I'd be wary talking to me too!" she joked.
	"Private," you requested more formally after a pause, "I don't know if you could tell me this or not, but how did Colonel Angel know about me? I hadn't met him before 2nd Manassas, but he already recognized my name and face."
	She adjusted her posture and removed her kepi.
	"From what I've heard, Captain, he got your name from the Engineers Lieutenant that repaired your bot back in the spring. Once he had that, he grilled many captured Rebs about your physical description and any possible promotions since then. I guess if he was going to kill Dixie, he felt her owner deserved it just as equally."
	You extracted a rolled up red sash from your coat's inside pocket. Though there was an excessive amount of dried blood on it, you couldn't resist taking it off his body after the battle.
	"What do you have there?" she asked.
"It's his sash. I'm taking it with me as a trophy... because I killed him singlehandedly."
	"You sure did. Tell that to anyone who asks!"