Casca 27: The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  “Fire!” Case said calmly but loudly. Seven guns blasted out death, sending Minié bullets spinning into the confined space of the yard at the five men. The man reaching for his pistol jerked as one plowed into his skull, shattering the cranium, sending his brains exploding out through the hole and throwing him backwards, now a mere nerveless rag doll. A second was hit twice, once from Furlong’s shot that blew his right elbow into pieces, the second from Buckley’s bullet that buried itself into his back and bored through the ribs, shattering two, before rupturing his right lung into a mass of jelly. Case’s shot drilled into a third man, lifting him up off his feet as he was still turning in reaction to the shot, his spine smashed in two. A fourth man was hit by Munz’s shot, blasting into his gut, forcing him to his knees and sending him into shock as his stomach tried to come to terms with a third hole in it.

  The fifth man incredibly was unharmed as the last shot spat past his cheek and he gaped at the sight of seven men closing in after discharging their weapons, wondering who to go for first. Case was on his feet and running for the door, screaming at the others to come with him.

  The echoes of the volley were still reverberating around the back room when Case shoulder charged the door, sending it open with a crash. The last remaining Brotherhood man in the yard turned to go after him but he was clubbed to his knees by Passmore and then skewered on his bayonet through the kidneys. He screamed like a stuck pig and flopped to the ground, Passmore still grinding the blade into his body, teeth clamped in hatred and effort.

  Case took in the scene in the kitchen in one quick second; he’d been here many times before and knew the layout intimately. Ann was stood by the sink, her eyes and mouth wide open in shock, and the man with the mole, Smith, was reaching for his pistol that had been on the tabletop. Case roared in fury and vengeance, and sprang forward, knocking Smith backwards, the pistol flying lazily up into the air, clattering onto the table then dropping off the side in slow motion.

  “You murdering bastard!” Case breathed into Smith’s face, his hands closing round the Brotherhood man’s throat as he pinned him to the floor, lying on top of him. “You left Liz to die in that cellar, and I’m going to kill you for that!”

  “No!” Ann screamed in terror, her hands to her face. Billy came in and saw her. “Mom!”

  Ann looked at him in shock. “Stop him! He’s killing John!”

  Billy took one look at Smith’s contorting face, then swung back to his mother. “He’s the one who killed Dad! He can die for all I care.”

  Ann screamed again and flew at Case but Billy grabbed her and fought with the madly screaming woman. Munz and the others came rushing past and pushed into the passage leading to the rest of the house. Case kept on squeezing, knowing Smith couldn’t stop him, then the mist cleared as he heard Ann screaming John over and over, and he stopped. Smith was in the last stages of suffocation and Case snarled in fury, partly at himself, and hauled the gasping man up and into one of the chairs, slamming him down forcefully, pinning him there. Smith groaned and coughed, trying to get air into his pain-wracked lungs. His plans had suddenly all gone wrong and he was still wondering how the devil Longinus had managed to get here so fast.

  More shots came from the house, then it was quiet, apart from Ann’s sobbing and Smith’s labored breathing. Munz came padding back and nodded at Case. “Killed the last of ‘em. Passmore’s got a knife wound but it’ll be okay.”

  Case grunted. “Go get the two out the front in, then post a watch upstairs both front and rear. Find any food here and share it out.”

  “Yup,” Munz acknowledged and vanished.

  “So, Ann, I finally have a chance to find out what the hell’s been going on.” Case kept a firm hand on Smith and shook him in warning. “Make any stupid move and I’ll hurt you some, you get it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Right, Ann, just what the hell’s got into you?”

  She stared at him, lower lip trembling. Billy frowned. “Mom? What’s got into you?”

  “Don’t touch me!” Ann shouted, backing into a corner. “Ye’re all devils! John’s the only one who can save us all from that demon there!” she pointed at Case.

  Case pulled Smith up onto his feet. “What have you done to her, you sick bastard?”

  Smith laughed and eyed the object of his hatred without fear. He knew he was a dead man; it was merely now a case of when he’d die. “I told her the truth about you. She’s allied to me, not you, Longinus!”

  “Shut up, my name’s Lonnergan. You tell Ann you killed Liz? I bet you didn’t!”

  “Liz? Dead?” Ann gasped in horror.

  “Yeah, this bastard left her to die in the house in Richmond. I found her too late. She’d starved to death.”

  Smith laughed. “She was alive when I left her; you killed her the moment she fell in love with you.” He looked at Ann, his head pounding with the returning blood. “He’s as I told you, remember?” He looked up at Case. “How did you get here so fast? We would have been ready to trap you in a couple of days.”

  “That’s not important; we got here in time, that’s all.”

  Smith coughed again, doubling over. Suddenly he had a small knife in his hand and he slashed it down across Case’s wrist. The Eternal Mercenary yelled, then swung a fist and smashed Smith with all his might, the uppercut connecting with his jaw, snapping his head back with an audible crack! and sending him sailing ungainly over the table and onto the stone flagged floor beyond. He cursed and gripped his wrist, staring at the inert form of Smith.

  Ann screamed and fell to the floor, Billy trying to keep her upright. Case stood no more than six feet from Ann and her eyes caught sight of the wound that Smith had done. Her disbelief grew as the wound began to close, the skin actually re-knitting in front of her, the blood flow ceasing and clotting in an impossibly fast time. Billy saw none of this; he was still trying to get his mother to stand. Case saw Ann’s look and tried to cover the eight inch long mark but knew it was too late.

  “The-the…” Ann began, then her mind began shutting down. Smith’s words came to her and the realization that Case, or Longinus or the Demon or whoever – whatever – he was, was no normal being and Smith had been right all along. And now Smith was dead, his neck broken. She began giggling hysterically and it grew louder and louder. Billy, distressed, tried ineffectually to stop her, so it was Case who finally tired of the sound and slapped her across the face.

  Ann stared at him in terror, and urinated down her legs. “Aww, Mom!” Billy said in dismay.

  “Billy, go put her in her bedroom and clean her up. Best to watch her as I think she’s not herself right now.”

  Billy nodded, his face stricken. He gently guided the shaking woman out of the kitchen, leaving Case alone with the body of Smith and a broken back door slowly moving back and forth as the breeze caught it. He cursed. He’d not managed to get out of anyone the one important piece of information he needed; when were the others due to turn up?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “What d’you mean, the others?” Corporal Buckley demanded, frowning angrily. Case had just passed orders to watch for more of the enemy turning up. Two men were already on guard upstairs but the rest, apart from Billy who was still tending his babbling mother, were in the kitchen gathered round a seated Case who was cleaning his gun.

  “I mean those Federals who were chasing us north of the Potomac. That Colonel sent that note to me, remember? The note Mosby read out that was in Latin. That Colonel obviously sent me here into a trap, but we sprung it before they were ready by riding here. Would you think they’d chase us like that then not come for us when they’d know we’d be in this place at this time?”

  “You mean they’d be after you,” Buckley replied. He was thinking fast and hard, Case could see. “There’s a whole platoon of them. Anyhows, they wouldn’t get this far, not as Yankees.”

  “Agreed. So they’ll be either in ordinary clothes or in Rebel uniform. And they’ll get here in the next couple of days
.”

  Buckley laughed briefly then placed his rifle against the wall he was standing next to. “So let’s get out of here. We’ve rescued Billy’s ma but she’s off her head. She’ll have to be put into some institution. Do that and we can get back to the army.”

  “Or go home,” Passmore said. His left arm was bandaged from the slash wound he’d received killing the last of the Brotherhood men upstairs. “Plenty of the boys have done that already.”

  Case looked up at Passmore. “Yes, you can do that too. If you think that’ll help stopping the Yankees coming south and destroying everything.”

  Passmore looked uncomfortable. “Was only a suggestion,” he said quietly.

  “Corporal Buckley. As you rightly said, this is a fight between me and those Yankees. You don’t have to get involved. I suggest you make your way to Richmond and find out where Lee’s army is and rejoin them if you wish. Take whoever wants to come with you.” Case resumed his cleaning, head down.

  There was silence in the kitchen for a moment. Furlong polished his glasses. “I’ll stay. Sarge and Billy have stuck by me all this time so I think I’ll return the compliment. Corporal Munz upstairs would agree too. And Billy.”

  Case looked up into the eyes of Passmore who shifted uncomfortably. “Well?”

  “Uh…I’ll stay too, if Randy’s right.”

  Case grinned. Passmore was a fence-sitter. “And you, Gatscombe? Taylor?”

  The two men looked at Buckley, then at each other. “Well, I think we Southern boys oughta stick together,” Taylor said. “I think Len will too,” he nodded upstairs to where Wendell was standing guard.

  Case nodded, satisfied. “As you say, Buckley, you’re free to return to the army.”

  Buckley made an exasperated noise and picked up his gun. “Well, you’re all crazy, but I’ll have to stay with you to make sure you all do things right. When do you think those two who left earlier will return?”

  “Any time. Keep a sharp eye out. I want them alive. I want to know if they know when those others are scheduled to turn up. And they’ll have supplies; that’s what they were going into town for.” He got up, having made one decision. “Billy needs to get his mother out of here now before things get tough. There’re a few places in town that could take her in. I’ll get one of the neighboring farms to lend us a wagon.”

  He talked to Billy who was reluctant at first, but eventually saw the sense in getting his mother out of the house, especially as she was becoming hysterical again. She spent much of the time shaking with fear in the corner of the room and had seemed to retreat from reality. Case walked across the fields to the next farm and noted it was still being worked. He was welcomed with surprise by Patrick McGuire and Case brought him up to the present with events, and got the wagon and horse he asked for. Patrick agreed to help Billy take care of Ann, wanting to see his sister before she was taken to the place of sanctuary.

  * * *

  The wagon pulled up outside the long white wall of the Hospital for the Rescue of Injured Souls, or so that was what it stated on the peeling letters on the weathered black sign nailed to the wall. There was a single dull green door set in the long wall and no other visible entry or exit. Various trees and bushes could be seen poking above the wall which, Billy guessed, was about fifteen feet high.

  He got down and pulled back the tarpaulin that covered the various lumpy shapes in the back of the wagon. His mother looked up with wild eyes and pulled futilely at the rope bonds that held her fast. The gag in her mouth prevented her from crying out, which would attract would-be passers-by to them. “Now Mom,” he whispered, “we’re here. You’ll be safe here.” Patrick remained on the riding board holding the reins, not wanting to see his sister taken into the place. He’d been upset mightily by the state of her mind.

  Billy stepped up to the door and knocked firmly, the returned to the wagon. After a moment the grille set in the center opened and a small face peered out. “Yes?”

  “I have a woman here who needs your care,” he replied. He pulled his mother up to the door and the small face gasped. The door opened and a nun came hurrying out, flapping in concern.

  “Oh dear, dear, dear,” she said. “What a terrible thing it is!”

  Billy got his mother to move unwillingly and between him and the nun managed to drag Ann through the doorway into a long cool passageway that opened out onto a manicured garden of some sort. Beyond it stood the hospital proper. The nun put a hand to Billy’s chest. “I’m sorry, my child, but no further. There are many poor souls within who may be a little excited at the sight of you.” Billy looked at her and judged her to be about thirty years or so.

  “You’ll look after her won’t you? She’s my mom. She’s had a dreadful experience and it’s affected her mind. I don’t know what to do with her.”

  “Well now, child,” the nun smiled. “Of course we will. We’re a haven of rest for these poor souls, what with the awful things going on around us.” She stared closer at him. “You’re a soldier, are you not?”

  “Well, yes, sister.”

  The nun tutted. “Such foolishness. Still, at least you had the decency to care for your poor mother here.” The nun looked at the helpless figure of Ann, staring wildly about her, cowering in the shadows of the passage. “And what is it that makes her so terrified?”

  “Well, it’s really nonsense, but it’s a man we both know. She’s convinced he’s the devil. Really made her go mad it has.”

  The nun sighed. “I shall talk to her and try to ease her poor tortured mind. I shall need you to sign a few papers in this office here. Do you mind waiting for a moment while I go make your mother comfortable?”

  “Yes, yes. Um, can I ask your name?”

  The nun turned and smiled again. “Why yes! It’s Sister Martina.”

  * * *

  While Billy and Patrick were away taking care of the crazy Ann, the other Brotherhood men returned. The lookout called a warning to the rest of the house and all went to the front and peered out of the windows carefully, half downstairs, the rest up. “I thought there were two of them?” Buckley said, watching as three men approached down the long driveway. All of them carried bags and were obviously laden.

  “I want at least one prisoner,” Case said and moved to behind the front door, his hands free. Munz and Wendell stood with him while the others loaded up and tensed, hiding behind the curtains and walls. Case listened as the crunch of footfalls neared, then stopped. The door shook to the hammering of the knocking and this made Wendell start. Munz grinned, then took on a serious look, gripping his gun as Case reached out to open the door.

  He hauled it open and came face to face with a broken-nosed man. The other two stood behind and they all reacted the same, with shock. Case took advantage of their indecision by grabbing the broken-nosed man and hammered a fist into his face, and then repeated the treatment. Broken-Nose slid to the ground and Case pulled him into the house. The other two dropped their packs and reached into their jackets, pulling out shiny short bladed swords, snarling in hatred. Five guns spoke as one and the two Brotherhood men staggered as multiple bullets tore into them, and they slid to the ground, blood seeping through their clothing.

  The house smelled of discharged gunpowder and the smoke drifted into the corridor. Case looked at the two corpses without pity. “Take them and put them with the others. Those swords you can fight over, like the others you found.”

  Munz and Buckley grunted and waved the others to assist with taking care of the bodies, while Case dragged Broken-Nose into the kitchen, tied him firmly to a chair and then threw a bowl of cold water over his face. The prisoner spluttered, shook his head and looked round, recalling with a missed heartbeat how he’d got there. “Longinus,” he gasped.

  “So you understand your position, you’re dead,” Case said grimly, holding one of the short swords liberated earlier. “Smith and the others are all dead, and I want to know when the others are due to arrive. Smith was waiting for them to trap me h
ere. When are they coming and how many?”

  Broken-Nose spat on the floor. “I’ll never talk,” he growled. “Besides, as you say, I’m dead, so there’s no reward for me talking.”

  “There is. A painless and quick death. That’s all anyone can expect from you sick bastards, so I might as well return the compliment. But if you intend to be stupid, then it’ll cost you a lot of pain and suffering. And in the end you’ll tell me.” Case sat on the edge of the table and glared at his victim. “Think I don’t know how to inflict pain and suffering? Someone like me who’s lived all this time and seen so much dished out – and been on the receiving end at times? I think I’m an expert. So, my friend, talk – or else.”

  The house began to echo to screams and the others outside stopped in the process of burying the dead. Munz looked at the others. “Carry on, Sarge is just doin’ what has to be done.”

  They finished and patted the earth down before returning to the house. They stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and looked in shock and horror at the bloodied mess that had once been a man. Case was leaning against the wall, a tired look on his face. “Okay, boys. Go get some rest. The Colonel and his men are due here tomorrow. I’ll take care of this.”

  The Confederate soldiers filed through silently, trying not to gaze at the horribly cut up corpse, but one or two pale faces betrayed the fact they had. More than one muttered about not wanting to see such things again, Buckley amongst them.

  The following morning they had scouts out in all directions waiting for the approach of the enemy, knowing this was one fight that would be to the death. Billy had returned very subdued and Case had spoken to Pat for a while before the farmer had returned to his place. Case had not spoken to the man for some time and it had been good. Still, he’d left Pat with some instructions and hoped the farmer would come through with them. Defending a house with eight other men against a platoon of killers wasn’t guaranteed to last.

  At about eleven Taylor came running from the north, hand on hat. “They’re a-comin’! Dressed in Rebel uniforms, led by that man on horseback like you said, Sarge. I recognize that sergeant of theirs, ugliest hog I’ve ever seen!”