“Ol’ Doucet’s got himself quite a pack of hellcats, don’t he?” Bunting grinned. “Heck, I reckon we could win this war by ourselves.”
“If we’re going to do that, we’d better get our heads down,” Oriole advised. “I’ve a feeling, tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Far from home, in a strange place, Ceci lay her head down on the rough bracken, pulled the coarse blanket up around her shoulders, and shivered. She’d never felt so alone before.
It was barely light, before the door crashed open and Doucet marched in. “You must be ready to move in an instant,” he shouted, as they stared blearily up at him.
“The enemy can come upon you at any time. A sleeping target, is an invitation to attack. Everyone outside.”
“I think I got some varmint living in my bed,” Cardinal muttered, as they filed out. “I been scratching all night.”
Doucet was waiting for them, accompanied by a huge man. He had hands like hams, a thick bushy black beard and an ugly white scar creasing his left cheek.
“This is Bear,” Doucet introduced him. “He’s spent his entire life living off the land. There’s nothing he don’t know about survival. So pay attention to him.”
He began to distribute canteens and leather satchels. “This is one day’s rations,” he informed them. “That’s breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper. That goes for the water too, so don’t use it all at once. Take one swallow of water, then I want you to run around the perimeter of the camp,” he indicated the route, with a sweep of his arm. “Don’t stop until I tell you.”
An hour passed, before Doucet appeared in front of them. Hand raised.
“I can’t feel my feet anymore,” Bunting panted.
“See this tree?” Doucet laid his hand on the tall cottonwood next to him. “Climb it.”
“There must be thirty feet of clear trunk,” Oriole observed. “How we are going to climb that?”
“Is that what you’re going to say, when it’s a telegraph pole, with a wire at the top, you need to tap into?” Doucet asked, nodding at Bear.
The man drew a large knife from his belt and proceeded to cut some nearby saplings. Stripping the bark from them, he quickly platted a crude rope, which he threw around the trunk, enclosing himself in the loop. With this makeshift harness, he quickly began to ascend. For a big man, he was remarkably nimble.
“You try,” Doucet pointed at Oriole.
After a good deal of effort, grunting and cuss words, she managed to get about half way, before she slipped, crashing heavily to the ground.
“Try again, later,” Doucet dismissed the attempt. “Now you,” he waved the harness in Ceci’s direction.
She stepped forward, declining the support, as all her years of running wild on the plantation, came flooding back. Placing her hands and feet on each side of the trunk, she shinned up it in no time, straddling the first branch she came to.
“How in the hell did she do that?” Cardinal stared in amazement.
“Very good.” Doucet observed, mildly impressed.
At length, with Bear’s harness and Ceci’s technique, they all mastered the tree.
“See that log?” Doucet pointed, before they’d even had time to catch their breath.
“Pick it up. Two on each side. Stand six feet apart and throw it to each other, until I tell you to stop.”
The log was about fifteen feet long and as broad as a railroad tie. As they struggled to pick it up, Doucet sauntered over to a boulder, sat down and lit a cigar.
“I wish he’d chosen a shorter cigar,” Bunting grunted, as the weight of the log crashed into her chest.
Doucet took his time with his smoke. Eventually, to their relief, he tossed the stub away. However, their joy was short lived. “Drop that,” he ordered “And follow me.”
For the rest of the day, he took them over a wide variety of obstacles, including rope swings, pit falls, and a twenty-foot tunnel they had to crawl through blind. Allowing them only thirty minutes to rest, eat and relieve themselves.
“I damn near lynched myself on that blamed rope,” Cardinal grumbled, as they sat on the ground, eating.
“I saw that,” Oriole acknowledged. “Weren’t nearly as funny as Bunting hanging by her leg.”
“Thanks for your sympathy,” she spluttered through a mouthful of bread.
“Whippoorwill,” Cardinal turned to Ceci. “When you stepped on that boat, with your fine hair and soft skin, I took you for a soft living lady. So why is it all this comes so easy to you?”
“I weren’t always a lady,” Ceci smiled. “What it took to make me one was a lot harder than anything here.”
“That’s enough jabbering,” Doucet cut in. “On your feet and start running. Don’t stop until sundown. Then you can go back to the cabin.”
As dusk fell, they limped and crawled back to the shack.
“I ain’t going live long enough to be a spy,” Oriole groaned, staggering inside and lighting the lamp, before collapsing, like the others, onto her bed.
“I don’t see how my having to shit in the woods, is going to help the South win the war?” Cardinal complained.
“Where else do you think you’re going to go when you’re in the field?” Oriole asked. “Besides, an experienced hillbilly girl like you should be used to that.”
“At least you learned something new,” Bunting told her. “Now, you know you’re supposed to wipe your behind when you’re finished.”
Howls of laughter echoed round the cabin.
“Oh, you’re all so full of humour,” she narrowed her eyes at them. “I don’t know where you find the strength for it.”
“Just make sure you don’t use any poison ivy leaves,” Oriole warned. “Or you’ll be sorry you took a shit in the first place.”
Over the next few weeks Doucet concentrated on improving their physical fitness. He had them running, climbing, hauling rocks and wading through swamps. The relentless pace and meagre rations began to tell on them all.
“What the hell died in that swamp?” Cardinal lay on her bed, too tired to move. “I smell like a privy.”
“We all smell pretty bad now,” Ceci pointed out. “I think Doucet knew we couldn’t wash in the bayou, when he suggested it. The water’s so full of mud and silt, you go in there, and you come out worse than you went in.”
“Are we supposed to wear these clothes all month?” Bunting fidgeted. “I’ve been sweating in mine for weeks. They’re going stiff.”
“I think they’re the only clothes we’re likely to get whilst we’re here,” Ceci deduced. “I think Doucet’s trying to make a point. After all, we ain’t likely to get a change of clothes in the field.”
“Darn,” Cardinal threw down her canteen. “I gone and drunk up all my water and I’m as dry as a mule’s ear.”
“Here,” Ceci offered her canteen. “It’s still a quarter full.”
“Thanks, Whippoorwill,” she smiled. “I dreamed of you, last night, Oriole,” she went on after quenching her thirst.
“Oh yeah! What was I doing?”
“Roasting over an open fire. You looked mighty tasty.”
“That’s horrible,” Oriole scowled. “I can’t believe you’re that hungry.”
“I don’t think I can stomach any more of this stale cornbread,” Cardinal grimaced. “It tastes like it’s made outa birch bark and horse sweat.”
“Probably taste better, if it was,” Ceci joined in.
“Think ol’ Doucet will find any more excuses to make us take off our clothes in front of him?” Bunting asked. “I’m beginning to wonder if he’s training us to be spies, or saloon girls.”
“At least they eat good,” Cardinal sighed.
“To hell with Doucet,” Ceci spat. She gathered up all the canteens, and poured one
into the other, until they all contained roughly the same amount. She passed them out. “Here’s to us,” she toasted. “The Bird spies, the South and victory.”
“Amen to that,” they all cheered.
Doucet had warned them against fraternisation and the dangers of becoming too close, but, after all, they were still young women, united by a growing bond of camaraderie. Friendships were bound to be made.
Chapter Eighteen
“The woods are full of the sound of bird song,” Cardinal announced dramatically. “And some of it’s coming from actual birds.” She tilted her head back and repeated her well-practised call. A beautiful sequence of notes, soft and lilting, that drifted away on the still air.
Suddenly, there was a flash of scarlet, as a small red bird alighted on a branch above them, looking inquisitively down. Seeing none of its own kind it took flight in another flash of scarlet and was gone, leaving them all staring in amazement.
“God almighty,” Oriole spoke at last. “You called one in. That was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m going to keep practising, ‘til I can do that,” Bunting remarked with determination.
“Don’t you think it remarkable, that Doucet was able to find a college professor?” Cardinal asked. “An orni, ornery. Whatever the hell they call him?”
“Ornithologist,” Ceci came to her assistance. “It’s someone who studies birds.”
“That’s right,” Cardinal recalled. “An ornithologist, no less, who was able to teach us these bird calls?”
“Then there’s the weapons expert,” Oriole added. “And the cypher expert.”
“There was that man who showed us how to disguise our southern accents,” Bunting reminded them. “Where’d he find all those people? How’d he manage all that?”
“All I know,” Ceci told them, “is, that he fought in the Mexican war with Jeff Davis. I guess he has the entire resources of the South at his disposal. His organisation must be bigger than we can possibly imagine.”
“That’s what bothers me,” Bunting confided. “If he has all these experts, why’s he need us?”
“He told me that a woman can go where a man can’t,” Ceci recalled. “She arouses no suspicion and offers no threat.”
“That’s what he told us,” Oriole confirmed. “But, what if he’s lying? What if he has something entirely different in mind for us?”
“All I can tell you,” Ceci sighed, “is that my family were killed, during the capture of a city, where hardly a shot was fired. Pointless, unnecessary deaths that tore away part of my life I’ll never get back. I loved – love,” she corrected herself. “A northern man. Ain’t heard from him, since the beginning of the war. That’s another part of my life. I had a choice. I could do nothing, and watch the North sweep over the South, destroying what is left of my world. Or, I could accept Doucet’s offer and learn to fight back, make a difference and help win the war. If I live through this, I will build a new life, on the ashes of the old. If Doucet can help me do that, I will follow his instructions, no matter what they are.”
As she spoke of her former life, she remembered Ceci, the wild girl, running free in the Louisiana summer, and Ceci, the lovesick young woman. Since then, a new Ceci had been added. A dark creature, full of anger, hatred and vengeance, that lurked in the shadows of her mind, awaiting any opportunity to gain the upper hand. She knew that, no matter what she faced in the future, it was her greatest enemy and that, for now, she had no power to resist it.
In the month that followed, Doucet put them through an intensive training programme, honing their skills with weapons and self-defence. At night, they practised their codes and cyphers by the light of an oil lamp until they became so proficient they could converse with one another in this secret language. In all that time, none of them ever questioned Doucet’s motives again.
***
“The art of camouflage,” Doucet told them. “The ability to conceal yourself in plain sight.”
He had gathered them in a broad clearing, arranging them in a large square, one at each corner. There were no trees, bushes or rocks anywhere within it, only a thick carpet of dead leaves underfoot. They glanced around, perplexed. Suddenly, the leaves in the centre of the square erupted and Bear appeared out of a shallow scrape in the ground, making them all scream.
“That’s one method,” Doucet remarked. “This is another.” He opened the saddlebag he had with him and produced a square of cloth, no bigger than a napkin. He unfolded it, to reveal a complete Confederate uniform. “This is a new kind of material,” he told them. “Looks exactly like the standard army issue, but it’s only a fraction of the weight. Put it on over what you’re wearing,” he offered it to Oriole.
She did as he asked.
“Now you can see why you had to cut your hair,” he pointed out.
He was right. Oriole made a convincing soldier, almost.
“What do we do about these?” she asked, cupping her breast over the fabric.
“Bind them down, with strips of linen,” he responded casually, taking another square of cloth from the saddlebag. This time it was a Union uniform. “Put it on over the first,” he told Oriole. “The advantage of passing from one army to the other,” he continued, once she’d done so, “must be obvious, even to you.”
That wasn’t the only thing that was obvious. Only now did they truly understand, the kind of risks they were expected to take.
“If we’re caught, wearing both uniforms,” Ceci began to say.
“That’s what this three months is all about,” Doucet interrupted, preventing them from dwelling on the possibilities. “To ensure that you’re not.” He withdrew a third and final square from the saddlebag. With a flick of his hand, it opened into a complete dress. “Not very stylish,” he admitted, once Oriole had put it on. “But, with this, you’re just another woman in the crowd. Use it in the field, and most men, even battle-hardened veterans, will hesitate to attack a woman, and therein lies your chance to neutralise him.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Bunting pointed out. “We’re all different sizes.”
“That was obvious in the clearing,” he remarked, making them all blush. “You will all be issued with a set of these clothes, tailored to your measurements,” he assured her. “Altogether, these three items do not constitute the weight of one regular uniform,” he began to summarise. “They can be worn one over the other and packed into a small space. If you’re forced to abandon any of this equipment, try and retain the dress. You can always scavenge uniforms from fallen soldiers, along the way.”
“You mean, pull them off dead bodies?” Cardinal asked dubiously.
“I doubt that any living soldier, will agree to give you his uniform,” Doucet stated the obvious.
***
Bunting was tiny compared to Bear. He towered over her diminutive figure like a giant over a midget.
“Hit him,” Doucet ordered.
“Hit him?” Bunting stared in alarm. “He’s liable to kill me.”
“Nothing will happen,” he assured her calmly. “Now, hit him.”
Bunting drew back her arm and drove her clenched fist into Bear’s stomach, with all the strength she could muster. He didn’t so much as blink, whilst she reeled away, clutching her fist in her other hand. “That hurt,” she yelped.
“Does anyone here not believe that Bunting can bring Bear down?” Doucet asked.
All their hands went up together.
Doucet nodded. Clearly, he’d expected no less. “Watch carefully,” he demonstrated, placing his foot behind Bear’s right knee. “Bunting, come around here and do as I have done, only quickly.”
She did as she was told, taking a run at Bear, and he went down, like a felled oak.
“Self-defence,” Doucet explained. “It’s about using
your opponent’s weight against him. You will be shown all the vulnerable areas on a man, where you can disable him with little or no effort.”
“That could come in handy,” Oriole remarked suggestively, making them all grin.
Doucet wasn’t amused. “To finish here,” he continued, straddling Bear’s prone form. He drew a knife from his belt. “At this point,” he knelt, pressing the blade against Bear’s throat. “You fall upon your enemy’s back and thrust your knife into his neck. This will sever the jugular vein. Your enemy will die quickly and quietly.” He rose, noting with some satisfaction the change in their expressions. “This isn’t a game,” he warned. “Always remember. If he is not the one who dies, it will be you.”
***
Very occasionally, Doucet allowed them an hour to forage for themselves, to supplement their meagre diet and gain experience in living off the land.
“It works something like this,” Cardinal demonstrated. She lay flat on her stomach, at the edge of the bayou, arm in the water, up to her shoulder. “My daddy showed me when I was a little girl. You stay real quiet,” she explained, in a hushed voice. “Find a fish under the bank and begin to stroke it, real gentle, with your fingers.”
Ceci and the others watched with interest as she edged forward, her brow creased in concentration.
“Fish gets real calm,” she continued to whisper. “Then you put your hand under its belly, and throw it up on the bank.”
Oriole had other ideas. Winking at the others, she grabbed Cardinal by the ankles and tipped her deftly into the water.
She rose spluttering to the surface, to be greeted by a storm of laughter.
“That’s the first bath you’ve had in weeks,” Oriole jeered. “Stay in there and wash your clothes at the same time.”
“Real funny,” Cardinal coughed, thrashing at the murky water with her arms. “I hope you find it as amusing when you’re still hungry tonight.”
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