Hurrah for Dixie (Part V)

	Coming back down the hill after almost half an hour later, Sam took note of the pleased grins on both of your faces.
	"You two were up there a while. That coat have its proper symbols on it now?" he asked.
Dixie held up the sleeves for him to inspect and formed one more quick lie.
	"Sorry, Colonel. It took so long because I only got one good arm, and Anon didn't know how to help."
	"Okay. Now that it's done, I want you, Sergeant, to return to your tent. I'll be telling Cap'n McCroskey to order the men to fall in shortly. Today, you're going to have your skills sharpened, as training was cut short down in South Carolina. I want the 12th to be even stronger for the next time we see action!" he relayed without mentioning or looking at her.
	Feeling much more energized, you gave a proper salute and walked around him while putting on your coat, with its new bright blue chevrons contrasting its otherwise 'dirty' appearance.

	"...And as for you, Dixie, someone very special would like to meet you. Would you come with me to my tent?" he said pointing his arm towards it. In the distance, she could see someone sitting on a stool planted right by its opening.
	As they marched closer, she saw that this special person was a bearded man dressed in a gray coat similar to Sam's, with the same golden winding lines at the bottoms of the sleeves. Clearly an officer, she thought, but she couldn't tell what his rank was until Sam was close enough to announce it.
	"General, I'd like to introduce you to the finest soldier in my regiment."
The general closed the book he was reading and politely smiled as he looked at them. He then stood up, towering over her, and extended his hand for her to shake.
	"Well, hello there, Dixie," he said with a powerful, yet soft voice, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. You must be the deadly flagbearer I've heard so much about!"
She grasped his hand, almost sure of who this general was.
	"You wouldn't happen to be General Stonewall Jackson, would you, sir?"
He raised his eyebrows as he shot a glance at Sam before returning his gaze to her and giving a hearty laugh.
	"Oh, I sure am, honey! I was told by your Colonel, along with a couple other officers, of your exceptional skill. After what you did a few days ago, I must ask," he paused and leaned in, "would you prefer to carry a musket instead of a banner?"
A lust for blood overtook her mind and lit up her face.
	"Would I?!" she exclaimed, "Sir, if you gave me a rifle, I could easily drop more Yanks than last time!"
Jackson patted her head and stood up straight again. "So it shall be, little lady," he spoke as if he were talking to a child. "Colonel," he said shifting his attention to Sam, "Private Dixie is now relieved of her duty as flagbearer. See to it she is issued a musket and takes part in the drills involving it once her replacement arm arrives."
	"Consider it done, sir" Sam replied with a salute. Jackson mimicked the motion and left without another word.
	"A new arm, sir?" Dixie asked for clarification.
	"The day after the battle," Sam explained, "I sent a letter to my father's shipping company up north, requesting spare nandroid limbs. I got a response back from them very recently, saying they'd be happy to ship down an assorted crate of them for free due to their unexpected lack of demand. It should be here in two weeks at the earliest."

	Just shy of a week later, the crate had arrived at the camp, surprising both the one who ordered it and the robot that needed one of its parts. With countless arms, legs, hands, eyes, and other spare appendages now quickly accessible, she would never be indefinitely crippled again. A brand new arm was inserted in her shoulder socket, and she was at last able to refine her marksmanship. However, the very next day, General Jackson ordered your battalion to move ten miles north to another ongoing engagement. This time, the Confederates were on the defensive position, and a Union brigade was determined to break their lines. It appeared that he was waiting for Dixie's arm to show up before sending you into battle, seeing as you hadn't been transferred from the encampment in almost two weeks.
	Instead of boarding trains, the distance was decided to be short enough to march to. As you trudged in a column of fours, you were not shaking with fear like before. Instead, you were eager to see how Dixie would fare in the battle, now armed with a musket of her own. On top of that, the forgotten dream of being as admired as Sam back in town was returning to your mind, and you were ready to do something heroic enough to get another promotion. If just being shot boosted you three ranks up, you wondered what you could do this time besides purposefully wounding yourself.
	With Dixie and Sam several rows in front of you, there was nobody nearby and familiar to chat with. The sound of almost-synchronized steps and tin cups rhythmically clanking filled the air, and there was not a voice to be heard. In a move to change that, you abruptly said to the middle-aged Corporal next to you: "I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see Dixie in combat again today!"
	"Pteh! Just her? What about the rest of us, Sarge? We've all been training like Hell lately!" he grumbled in reply.
So much for small talk.

	After about two hours of marching and destroying the muscles in your feet, the trail opened up to a large clearing with a shallow decline. You peeked your head out from the side of the row and quickly understood what was happening. Confederate cannons were placed in a long row over the flattest area of the slope facing the large force of Yankees. When you moved around them to meet the infantry regiments below, one went off right next to you, causing you and several other men in the column to jump, and doing more damage to your eardrums than any number of bullets could.
	Reforming into a firing line, you briefly continued marching until you reached the infantry below. They were barricaded behind a short makeshift wall of rocks and wood, which was already heavily damaged by the Yankee cannons. Some areas were very fortified, while others were completely exposed. Nonetheless, both sides were exchanging fire frequently, and corpses wearing both blue and gray lay strewn about the field. When you formed up beside a battalion from Florida, you overheard their colonel relay to Sam that the battle had been a repetitive game of 'back and forth'. "We'd charge and the Yankees would flee, then the Yanks would reform and strike back, causing our ground to be lost, and all that would repeat!" he yelled over the gunfire, "It was only an hour ago that this wall was built, and we've entrenched ourselves behind it! They haven't made a successful charge over it yet, so I think we'll be fine if we and our cannons keep pourin' into em'!"
	You all were ordered to kneel down behind a mostly intact area of the wall and aim over it. You looked down the row and saw Dixie tens of soldiers away from you with a determined look on her face, as she was now properly equipped to drop some Federal troops at a distance. A private beside her looked like he was saying something, but you obviously couldn't hear him. Judging by her confident expression, it was probable that he was giving some last minute advice for aiming.
	"BATTALION, LOAD AND FIRE AT WILL!" Sam commanded.
While you loaded your rifle, which was harder to do whilst not standing up, you saw the Yankee cannonballs flying and crashing into the dirt alarmingly close to the wall. They posed an even greater threat than their bullets, which had a hard time penetrating the piled rocks. Just as you put the ramrod on the ground leaning against the barrier, you heard something whiz by your head, instinctively making you duck down for cover. Replacing the percussion cap and cocking the hammer all the way back, you sat up and aimed at one of the unremarkable Yankee privates in the process of reloading his musket. You pulled the trigger and a cloud of smoke was ejected, but you could just barely see him drop like a dead weight. Quickly gazing to your left, you saw Dixie discharge her weapon and start to reload it without taking a moment to relish her kill.
	"PICK YOUR TARGETS BEFORE YOU SHOOT, BOYS!" Captain McCroskey instructed the company from behind.
In an instant, a cannonball crashed into the section fifteen feet to your right, killing the multiple men crouched behind it and putting you into a panic.
	"PLUG THIS HOLE, DAMNIT! KEEP UP YOUR- AAAH!"
You whipped your head in Sam's direction, and saw him on the ground clutching his leg in pain. He had been shot through the recently created gap in the wall.
	"Sam!" you cried out, fighting the urge to run over to him. If you did, the Captain would definitely scold you for breaking rank without permission, no matter the reason.
Your attention momentarily shifted back to loading your musket, before two more cannonballs struck to your left in rapid succession.
	With the wall now mostly destroyed, you heard a Yankee colonel give an order to his men to charge, and the other battalions in the long line followed suit. They had bayonets fixed to the ends of their rifles. You didn't.
	"CEASE FIRE! FIX BAYONETS!" the Florida Colonel shouted, but it was clear that the Yanks would reach them before they had time to fully prepare. Laying on the ground, even Sam could tell this.
	"FALL BACK, 12TH!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
The regiment turned around and ran as fast as they could up the hill, with the Confederate cannons not firing in fear of hitting their own men. You ran about ten feet before you remembered Sam was wounded and immobile. Stopping and looking back, you saw him still sitting there, aiming his pistol at the incoming wave of blue. Going against your fight-or-flight instinct, you promptly dropped your musket and sprinted full force towards him.
	"Get out of here, Anon! I've accepted my fate!" he protested as you struggled to lift him over your shoulder. The single reply you gave was a strained grunt while you finally stood up with him and ran up the slope. He definitely limited your speed, but he was able to shoot a few Yanks only feet away from stabbing you in the back.
	On the trail, about a mile from the battlefield, the surviving members of the 12th were disheveled and lost without their Colonel before they saw you approach. You sunk to your knees and carefully rested him against a rock.
	"Colonel, darlin'," McCroskey began, "what are your orders? Should we keep retreating, or reform and go back down to assist the others?" Before he could answer, everyone turned as they heard the Floridians coming up the road, their heads hanging low in defeat.

	With the ground taken, the Union brigade was victorious in their mission. At dusk, some men were inspecting the bodies and dropped items from both sides. A private was examining the broken wall before he noticed a fallen soldier that didn't match any of the others.
	"Hey, Ed! Check this out!" he called to a clean-shaven old soldier not far away. Ed rushed over to get a view of this unexpected find. It was an armed nandroid in Rebel uniform with a large piece of stone shrapnel embedded in her chest.
	"You think she still might work if this thing were removed?" the private asked out of curiosity, not anticipating a real solution. Ed hastily scratched his cheek before answering.
	"At camp," Ed recalled, "I heard someone mention an Engineers officer who has a tent where he fixes these things. We could find him and have him take a look at her."