1901

“Actually, they’re very ready. Stripping them of their white officers to help fill another division cost them some manpower, but what remained was a solid core of professional soldiers with a lot of experience. And that numerical loss is being made up by new enlistments of Negroes who are plain tickled to be in units commanded by men of their own color. It’s just that the move created yet another bastard unit like the German Americans. Nobody knows what to do with them, so they’re all mine. Just to complete the picture, there’s a rumor I’ll be getting a battalion of Poles from Chicago.”

Her sarcasm was mild. “How wonderful for you.”

He chuckled warmly and squeezed her hand. “They are now calling it Mahan’s Bastard Brigade. When I’m done it will be the pride of the army. Well, at least the talk of it. Now, what have you been up to?”

In their few remaining moments together she told him that although her work with refugees was diminishing as the flow of those unfortunates appeared to have slowed, her work with the wounded and other soldiers was increasing. “We try to arrange transportation home for the wounded who have healed enough to travel. Then we try to arrange for visits from home for those who cannot yet make such journeys. Some,” she added sadly, her eyes moistening, “will never leave hospitals. I am glad I didn’t try nursing. I don’t think I could ever do it. Although, I suppose one never knows, does one? I certainly never thought I could do the work I’m doing now.”

True enough, he thought.

“Also I write letters for the soldiers and try to arrange for some wholesome recreation for them, like baseball. Football and basketball are too rough.”

“War isn’t?” he chided.

She admitted the point. “Well, as a general you surely don’t want the men injured playing football when that would cause them to miss the next battle.”

Finally he realized he had to leave. Once again it would be a night on a cot in a tent. Lucky Heinz. He took Trina’s arm and stepped outside. Molly had brought his horse around and tethered it out front. Because of his sore shoulder, mounting it would be a little difficult, but he could manage.

In the cooler air of the outdoors, they paused for a moment, then embraced. Their lips met, this time parting in a deeper and more probing kiss as their tongues searched tantalizingly. They squeezed each other tightly and arched their bodies against each other. Patrick again felt Trina’s lithe form as he pressed against her. Reluctantly, they parted. He kissed her on the forehead, mounted his horse awkwardly, and assured her he’d be back as soon as he could.

Trina walked about the yard, not quite willing to go inside and lose the moment. She also knew she was just a little disheveled and mussed and wasn’t ready for Molly’s grinning scrutiny.

If what she had just experienced was the beginning of passion, then she felt herself rewarded. It was indeed worth waiting for. He truly was very strong and secure. She also wanted to sort out her own astonishing reactions to the feel of his body growing against hers. Oh my, she thought. Oh my, my, my.

Corporal Ludwig Weber looked at the gruesome items on his plate with poorly concealed disgust. The bread was stale and hard, needing a solid soaking in what was referred to as beef stew in order to be chewed. He also had doubts about the stew. Beef? If he were any judge, those few chunks of stringy meat floating in the lukewarm liquid had once been graced by a saddle. Ah, well, at least it was food and it was somewhat warm.

Better, they were out of the damned mud fort and in a proper camp where they could clean up and rest. The probability of an inspection in a dress uniform meant they were in an area of relative safety where they were not subject to potshots by Yankee snipers.

The 4th Rifles had been pulled out of line a couple of days now and were starting to get back some of their snap and vigor. There was also talk of a possible bit of recreation time on Manhattan. Weber thought that would be interesting, strolling down Wall Street as a conqueror and not as the child tourist he’d once been.

Some conqueror. No matter how hard he tried, he could not rationalize what he and the army were doing here. It was an act of naked aggression, and for what purpose-to gain some stupid islands that most of the men in the 4th Rifles had never heard of? Even with his teaching background, he’d had a hard time locating the islands on a map of the world they’d found in a schoolhouse.