The Georgia Peach II - All is Fair

[Fossy]

NOTE TO CF STAFF – I have begun a new thread for this story because the first book generated 14 pages of interaction through its serialisation. I hope and plan for this second story to do likewise. Therefore, I hope you agree that a new thread is warranted.
Thank you
Fossy

THE GEORGIA PEACH BOOK II

"ALL IS FAIR"​

It was May of 1864. The American Civil War raged on, but slowly the tide was turning. Lincoln had taken decisive action to appoint a new overall Commander of the Union Forces and U.S. Grant had, in turn, appointed his old friend, William Sherman, as his loyal ally and right-hand man. Between them they would end this war at whatever the short-term cost!

As Sherman’s Armies made their way into Georgia, taking the war very much into the everyday lives of the ‘Southern’ population, collateral damage was extensive. Plantations raided and razed to the ground. Food and livestock confiscated and slaves set free. Despite general orders to the contrary women were taken and used, and often lived in a constant state of peril.

One such woman, a girl of tender years really, had been left to run her family estate upon the untimely death of both her parents. Catherine McCown became the Mistress of White Orchard Plantation when her father, Colonel John McCown, was killed at Shiloh. She had also lost her dear Mama, Renee, just a few months ago in the early Winter of 1863, to a fatal ailment.

Despite being the Goddaughter of General Sherman himself, Union Foragers had ransacked Catherine’s home, discovered evidence that she was collaborating with Confederate Guerrilla’s under command of the notorious William Quantrill, and had brutally interrogated her in a savage and humiliating manner.

When her ordeal had been brought to a halt through the personal intervention of the General himself, unconscious and naked, Catherine was wrapped in warm blanket, bundled into Sherman’s personal carriage and taken back to the Union encampment in the hills above the Oostanuala River, just outside Resaca.

It is here where “The Georgia Peach II – All is Fair” picks up our story …

NOTE – THE FIRST BOOK, “The Georgia Peach”

The Georgia Peach Interactive Thread from the Serialisation -

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/thread...ry-of-the-american-civil-war.8111/post-528090

The Georgia Peach Full Illustrated Story –

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/the-georgia-peach-by-fossy.783/

The Georgia Peach Graphic Novel –

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/the-georgia-peach-graphic-novel-by-fossy.784/

NOTE RE ACTORS - After her debut for me in THE GEORGIA PEACH I am delighted to say that Nina Dobrev is once again playing the part of Catherine McCown.

I have taken the liberty of tagging the following CF’ers because you have all shown interest in supporting my previous works. I hope that you don’t mind.
@Barabbas @Barbaria1 @Beate @bkcharmer @bobinder @crumera @cruxlover @ctcua @ERIN the Brave @Eulalia @Eva Inanna @Gibbs505 @gjpain @Heineudo @Jackie1111 @jacksjg89 @Jon Smithie @Kathy @Kuba @Madiosi @Marcella @markus @messaline @MJMcHugh @montycrusto @nicole @old slave @Peony @phlebas @Puritan @Quiet Paul @RacingRodent @Rias @thehangingtree @toxidomaskjr @twonines @wildsouthman @windar @Wragg @StarbuckSlut @shredword @The Beast @thommorr @Praefectus Praetorio @elephas @malins @fallenmystic @Loxuru @Harsh Martinet @RedOrc @Grab @firstout0 @bleater @Ozz @Boris Spider

 

[Fossy]

Prologue

“… they want to change your way of life,

a life you thought was right,

all you've held dear since birth, they'll rearrange,

but I don't think you're gonna live to see the change…”

- White Mansions, 1978​

Catherine McCown … Field Hospital Bed, 2am May 13th 1864

I am numb. I am blind. I am pain. I am more than pain. I am agony. I am the other side of death denied the mercy of it. I am life that should no longer be. I am skin that is torn and ruined, no longer able to endure.

I roll and roll again in my torment, but it only makes the pain worse. My body is on fire, flayed by a thousand red-hot blades. I lift my head, is Redemption near? I crawl to it, beg it to make my agony stop. Redemption tries to put things in my mouth and make me chew. I roll my head away. Resist. Not what I want. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me at all.

But it does touch me. Opens me, exposes me yet still Redemption goes away. Sometimes it returns and tries again. Time has no meaning. I drift. I am alone. Lost. I have always been alone. There has never been anything but cold and pain. I hurt. I am tortured. I am nothing.

Redemption comes and goes. Gives me things that smell and taste ... I spit them out, they are not what I need. Then it touches me again and I hear a sound. Is that a sound which I make? I drift in my pain-fuelled stillness. Am I to know something besides agony?

Then … He Who made me is here! My Lord has come. I rejoice. An end to my suffering is at hand. Wait … My Lord is … no, no, no! I scream. He is ceasing to be!

“Take me with you,” I beg! “I cannot endure … too much pain!” Redemption kneels beside me. Touches me, opens me, touches my hair. My Lord is gone. I am grief. I am despair. I am desolation.

Why am I being tortured? Have I been forsaken? I am being punished and I do not know why. Redemption is still here but I do not understand its language. I am in a place beyond words.


Chapter 1 – Major Watson’s tent, Union Army Encampment, Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 2pm May 13th 1864

The woman was quickly stripped of her skirt and petticoats, leaving only a tight, boned corset and camisoles between her naked body and the Major’s hungry eyes. her corset however left little to the imagination as her very full bosom overflowed it, exposing her hard, dark nipples.

“Come here Evangeline,” The surgeon needed to fuck. His overweight bulk as needy as any man’s for release, any man, that is, who had spent the past twenty-four hours tending to the naked, beaten, abused, but otherwise very desirable form of Catherine McCown.

Despite initially resenting General Sherman’s demands to have the flogged girl treated as a special case, he soon realised that being alone with her in a medical tent, naked as the day she was born, meant that he could explore every nuance and crevice of her nubile body at will … which he did, and all in the name of medical treatment!

But his perverted whims had been restricted to touching and probing, intruding and feeling, and so now he needed actual release. Evangeline, if indeed that was her name, was a suitable receptacle for his ardour. She had joined the camp at some point in the recent past, and the Major knew what she was, and how she wanted an officer’s attention. He also knew that any officer would suffice for her needs, and so he felt pleased with himself when, just over a week ago, he had attracted her to his tent. She was not as comely by any means as the beautiful Catherine, but she would more than do … and now she was at his beck and call!

As his mouth and hands ranged over her body, the woman's breath came in short gasps and she felt her pussy moisten in anticipation of what was to come. Evangeline was soon on her knees ready to minister to the Major’s needs.

Greedily licking and teasing, in short order her mouth was filled with a rapidly growing cock. The portly Major Watson was large of girth for sure, but it wasn’t the only sizable thing about him. Both of Evangeline’s hands barely encircled his growing shaft and she was lucky to get the head of his monster into her mouth. The girl's soft folds were malleable and swollen, and when she slipped a hand between her legs to release the tiny clitoris from its hood, she felt the nub rapidly engorge.

Not wanting to wait longer, Evangeline let his erection drop from her lips and throatily moaned "Come on Major, show me what you fine Union soldiers can do for a lady."

Watson smiled at the girl’s assumptive description of herself and then, as he slumped to the cot that served as his bed in the field, he let his breeches fall. Laying back, his cock stiff and already dripping, he assisted Evangeline to straddle his substantial body, her back facing him, his gaze focused upon her slender waist and firm backside.

Just as she lowered herself, fully skewered upon his solid erection, the flap of the surgeon’s tent opened and the face of a soldier appeared.

At first the young private’s eyes opened wide, struck momentarily dumb by the sight that greeted him, then he coughed and looked away as he said, “Excuse me Major Sir, but erm … the General, that is Major-General Sherman Sir, wants an update on how the girl, you know the girl in the tent, is erm … doing, Sir.”

“Damn,” Major Watson whispered, ceremoniously unseating Evangeline from her impalement. “Okay soldier, that will be all. Tell him I will report in thirty minutes, once I have checked on her.”


Chapter 2 – Medical Field Tent of Catherine McCown, Union Army Encampment, Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 2:30pm May 13th 1864

To say, as the major entered Catherine’s tent, that he was still filled with the wanton need of unfulfilled sexual desire was an understatement.

He gazed down upon the bed. Standing at its side he took the sheet that covered the girl into his grip. She shifted, offering a groan, but stayed asleep. The Major stood by her, his focused gaze watching as she slept peacefully. Despite the lustrous mane of dark hair, Catherine’s skin was fair, and as he pulled the sheet downwards to expose her body, he once again saw the criss-cross of cuts and welts that adorned her pale and slightly freckled flesh. He could not suppress a moan. He touched her face, softly, gently, two fingers dragging across her skin, in awe at the softness of her cheeks.

They trailed down to her chin, his thumb brushing over her smooth jawline and down her neck, stopping just short of her breasts, and lingered for a moment, before grazing over her nipple, feeling the springy teat against his fingertips. His groin stiffened as his touch trailed down, navigating the network of welts over her tight, flat stomach until he reached the flesh between her thighs, the soft folds broken with marks of the lash. His erection burgeoned.

Catherine’s body was perfect with the firmness of youth. Curvaceous in the right places, around the swell of her breasts, tapering into the slender waist that served as a precursor to her hips, abdomen and the smooth surface of her bare mound. Momentarily the Major tried to imagine the scene when Lieutenant Sampson and his Sergeant had held her down and shaved her hair away. The thought made his cock harden even more. Catherine McCown was a magnificent sight to behold … he wanted her, but held back, satisfying himself with a touch and a dip inside.

Once he was satisfied that his patient was stable, he reluctantly replaced the cover and headed for the tent of his commanding General.


To Be Continued ...

 

[Barbaria1]

I have taken the liberty of tagging the following CF’ers because you have all shown interest in supporting my previous works. I hope that you don’t mind.

Blatant acts of commercial promotion are always Moore than welcome here on CF

I have now purchased a reserved seat in the front row, got my bucket of popcorn and drink in hand, and am happily anticipating Part II of Georgia Peach.

 

[Barbaria1]

I thought Catherine’s “Redemption” soliloquy to be worthy of comparison with the work of the Great Bard.

Great start to Part II.

 

[Fossy]

Chapter 3 – Field Tent of Major-General William Sherman, Union Army Encampment, Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 2:45pm May 13th 1864


“Major Watson, come in, come in, please sit down. Will you take coffee with me?”

The Major took has seat and replied, “Yes, please General, I would like that.”

Handing him the steaming cup, Sherman asked his question. “How is Catherine, Major, is she recovering?”

He took a drink of the comforting brew, and nodded. “She is Sir, I dosed her with more Laudanum this morning and she sleeps. The effects of the chloroform from yesterday’s treatment will still be inside her too.”

“Good, Major, that is good. So, she sleeps well?”

“She does General, and it is best that we let her for the remainder of today at least. We could maybe bring her round a little more tomorrow with the salts. Of course, in saying that I am assuming we want to help her recover fully?” It was a strange question for a surgeon to ask, but Sherman knew why he had asked it.

“I know it seems peculiar for us to administer such tender care to a young girl that we flogged and … hurt, so mercilessly only yesterday, and a girl that we will no doubt need to question further. But we are not monsters, Major Watson, and though she will likely never forgive me, I must remember that Catherine is my Goddaughter.”

“Yes Sir, of course General,” The Major acceded.

“But, Major, despite my desire to visit with the girl, I know that we will be engaged in battle by the time she wakes. Although my request is more than a little irregular, I need you to remain here and tend to her. You have a large enough team to set up a field hospital for our wounded without your presence being required, am I right Major Watson?”

Although the Senior Surgeon in Sherman’s Army, Watson was delighted to get this instruction. He was a portly man, not really built for the battlefield, and so to be ordered to remain behind and minister to a naked, young beauty was hardly the worst commission he could think of.

“You are correct Sir, and if that is what the General wishes, then such an assignment will be my pleasure.

******

It was almost 4pm when Sherman was disturbed from his thoughts again.

“What news?” Taking a long puff on his half-smoked cigar, the General looked up from the map that was spread out on the table before him.

Judson Kilpatrick, Commanding General of Cavalry on this expedition, stood to attention. His men had returned both from scouting around Resaca and, in a separate mission, following Quantrill’s assumed trail into North Carolina.

“Johnston has withdrawn from Rocky Face Ridge Gen’l, and is now over the Oostanaula in the hills. We tested the Rebs to the full Sir, and we know where their line lies. He’s moving towards the Western and Atlantic Gen’l, so we need to break him.”

Sherman nodded, “Good, that’s good General, and you are correct in your analysis. What news of the North Carolina Trail?”

“My men got as far as Anderson Gen’l, and it soon became clear that we were following a Goose into the Wild. Quantrill and his bastards had not been that way, not ever, Sir. It was like you said Gen’l, they would not choose that route ‘cause there are too many Union people around. Likely South Carolina or North-West through Missouri and onto Kentucky Sir, would be my guess.”

Sherman nodded and took another pensive drag on his cigar. “We need to know which. If we let Quantrill roam, he will pick at us and distract my Army from its aim.”

“Yes Sir,” Kilpatrick waited while Sherman pondered the situation.

“Those damnable people,” he muttered.

“Lew?” Sherman shouted, knowing that Colonel Lewis Mulford Dayton, his long-time Aide De Camp, would not be far away.

It took but seconds for Mulford to appear.

“Lew, we will be moving out this very day, there is a battle to be fought. In one hour, we meet here, all Commanders to discuss our approach.”

“Yes Sir, leave that with me General.”

With a wave of his hand Sherman dismissed Kilpatrick and Mulford. He picked up his cigar once more and with deep sigh he sank back into his chair. Catherine had lied. Quantrill was not heading into North Carolina. What to do with her, the confounding girl? But that was not a question for today, because for now there was a battle to plan.


To Be Continued ...

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Hugh Judson Kirkpatrick
, Nicknamed "Kilcavalry" (or "Kill-Cavalry") for using tactics in battle that were considered as recklessly disregarding the lives of soldiers under his command, Kilpatrick was both praised for the victories he achieved, and despised by Southerners whose homes and towns he devastated. At the Battle of Gettysburg and in the early Overland Campaign in 1864, he came into criticism for reckless orders that resulted in the deaths of two promising and popular young Cavalry officers. He was so unpopular in the Eastern Theater, that he was transferred west to Sherman's command. His record there was generally very good, though he was renowned for widespread destruction of civilian property.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Chapter 3 – Field Tent of Major-General William Sherman, Union Army Encampment, Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 2:45pm May 13th 1864


“Major Watson, come in, come in, please sit down. Will you take coffee with me?”

The Major took has seat and replied, “Yes, please General, I would like that.”

Handing him the steaming cup, Sherman asked his question. “How is Catherine, Major, is she recovering?”

He took a drink of the comforting brew, and nodded. “She is Sir, I dosed her with more Laudanum this morning and she sleeps. The effects of the chloroform from yesterday’s treatment will still be inside her too.”

“Good, Major, that is good. So, she sleeps well?”

“She does General, and it is best that we let her for the remainder of today at least. We could maybe bring her round a little more tomorrow with the salts. Of course, in saying that I am assuming we want to help her recover fully?” It was a strange question for a surgeon to ask, but Sherman knew why he had asked it.

“I know it seems peculiar for us to administer such tender care to a young girl that we flogged and … hurt, so mercilessly only yesterday, and a girl that we will no doubt need to question further. But we are not monsters, Major Watson, and though she will likely never forgive me, I must remember that Catherine is my Goddaughter.”

“Yes Sir, of course General,” The Major acceded.

“But, Major, despite my desire to visit with the girl, I know that we will be engaged in battle by the time she wakes. Although my request is more than a little irregular, I need you to remain here and tend to her. You have a large enough team to set up a field hospital for our wounded without your presence being required, am I right Major Watson?”

Although the Senior Surgeon in Sherman’s Army, Watson was delighted to get this instruction. He was a portly man, not really built for the battlefield, and so to be ordered to remain behind and minister to a naked, young beauty was hardly the worst commission he could think of.

“You are correct Sir, and if that is what the General wishes, then such an assignment will be my pleasure.

******

It was almost 4pm when Sherman was disturbed from his thoughts again.

“What news?” Taking a long puff on his half-smoked cigar, the General looked up from the map that was spread out on the table before him.

Judson Kilpatrick, Commanding General of Cavalry on this expedition, stood to attention. His men had returned both from scouting around Resaca and, in a separate mission, following Quantrill’s assumed trail into North Carolina.

“Johnston has withdrawn from Rocky Face Ridge Gen’l, and is now over the Oostanaula in the hills. We tested the Rebs to the full Sir, and we know where their line lies. He’s moving towards the Western and Atlantic Gen’l, so we need to break him.”

Sherman nodded, “Good, that’s good General, and you are correct in your analysis. What news of the North Carolina Trail?”

“My men got as far as Anderson Gen’l, and it soon became clear that we were following a Goose into the Wild. Quantrill and his bastards had not been that way, not ever, Sir. It was like you said Gen’l, they would not choose that route ‘cause there are too many Union people around. Likely South Carolina or North-West through Missouri and onto Kentucky Sir, would be my guess.”

Sherman nodded and took another pensive drag on his cigar. “We need to know which. If we let Quantrill roam, he will pick at us and distract my Army from its aim.”

“Yes Sir,” Kilpatrick waited while Sherman pondered the situation.

“Those damnable people,” he muttered.

“Lew?” Sherman shouted, knowing that Colonel Lewis Mulford Dayton, his long-time Aide De Camp, would not be far away.

It took but seconds for Mulford to appear.

“Lew, we will be moving out this very day, there is a battle to be fought. In one hour, we meet here, all Commanders to discuss our approach.”

“Yes Sir, leave that with me General.”

With a wave of his hand Sherman dismissed Kilpatrick and Mulford. He picked up his cigar once more and with deep sigh he sank back into his chair. Catherine had lied. Quantrill was not heading into North Carolina. What to do with her, the confounding girl? But that was not a question for today, because for now there was a battle to plan.


To Be Continued ...

It's good to know that Cat has been left in the capable and trustworthy hands (literally) of Dr. Watson. (I'm still waiting for Sherlock to make an appearance.)

 

[Barbaria1]

He picked up his cigar once more and with deep sigh he sank back into his chair. Catherine had lied.

Such a dilemma. What to do with a goddaughter who can’t be trusted?

Well, never mind, there’s a battle to be fought

 

[twonines]

Such a dilemma. What to do with a goddaughter who can’t be trusted?

Well, never mind, there’s a battle to be fought

One could argue that her duplicity warranted her bending for a sharp dozen, but the sadistic treatment she received was far Moore than was justified!

 

[Loxuru]

Such a dilemma. What to do with a goddaughter who can’t be trusted?

Put her into a nunnery!

 

[Fossy]

Chapter 4 – May 14th 1864


On May 14th 1864, a full-scale battle erupted. Sherman attacked the Confederate centre with the Army of the Ohio and the Army of the Cumberland; Johnston replied late that afternoon with a counter-attack against the Union left. Neither attack proved decisive.

Meanwhile back in the Union Camp, set back from the main field of conflict, at around midday, Catherine tossed and turned in her bed.

She sensed things in her slumber … were they real or were they not? Her mind was confused, was she even alive? Then she felt herself move in a way that she had not moved before. A touch … more than a touch. Invasive, opening, exposing … penetrative … did she sigh? Or was it a groan.

Life had become a sensual banquet and with her sense of stimulation somehow heightened, she was voracious. Drenched in sweat and fuelled with what seemed like desire … was that what it was? If so, why?

“Mmmmmmm!” That was a moan. More touching. Stop … Don’t Stop!

She needs more. She needs nothing but this …his electric touch, the primitive, intimate things he does to her ... makes the pain fade just a little. His hands on me, his fingers touching me … is this true Redemption?

Please take me …

He held the salts under her nostrils and they flared as the powerful scent drifted into her airwaves. Her eyes opened and she saw the kindly bearded face of the Major … was he Redemption. Was it him that made her pain fade?

“Hello Catherine …”

They were words that she greeted with a tired, weak smile before letting her heavy lids close once more.

It was nearer to 4pm when Catherine’s deep blue eyes sluggishly flickered open again. Alone. With her mind more awake now, she let out a groan and buried her face in the pillow upon which she lay. Wait ... pillows? Where was she?

Catherine opened her eyes a little wider, her limbs and muscles aching with protest. She observed the surroundings … a large tent. Medical equipment? Looking down as the sheet from her chest slipped a little, she saw the red welts, the marks from the whip and on one or two of the deeper slices, sutures holding her flesh together with catgut.

Then she recalled. The awful torture. Her feet. Her back. Her whole body. Her … her … she closed her eyes as the penetrating rape she had suffered, both vaginally and anally, under impalement from that abominable wooden carving, once more flooded her memory with its horrific significance.

Her body was exposed … her raw, hairless mound still showing the welts that had sliced at her tender folds.

Why were the sheets drawn away from her? Why … but Catherine was still too dazed to think clearly and she could not fight the need to close her eyes once more.

It was several hours before the girl woke again, and this time she was able to struggle into a more upright position, her gaze casting outwards, looking around … searching. She thought back to what she last remembered. She'd been chained to the post, and whipped, badly beaten … then taken down and put in a carriage, was it a carriage? With Uncle Billy? Was he here? Where actually was she?

A wave of fresh air washed over her, sending a chill down her spine. She covered her chest with her arms. It was then she properly realised that she was totally naked. A spark of fear raced through her chest, eyes widening. Who had seen her? Removed whatever covering had protected her … stripped her, again? She gulped nervously at the thought.

Catherine heard hefty footfall nearing and she scrambled to lay back under the sheet. Forcing her eyes shut, she pretended to sleep with her face still buried in the pillow.

The flap of the tent’s entrance opened and she tried to calm her racing heart, forcing her lungs to slow. Heavy, booted steps padded in her direction, sending slight vibrations through the dirt floor. She gulped as the human shape loomed, hovering overhead, it’s shadowy outline ‘visible’ in her mind’s eye, looking down at her.

Major Watson stood beside her, a cough flaring from his chest causing him to momentarily turn his head. He slowly pulled the sheet away from her body, and she had to bite her lip to save herself from crying out. He hadn't taken her yet, at least she didn’t think so, but what if he wanted to ... this monster? There was no way she could fight anyone off!

Catherine held back a gasp when she felt cool air brush against her wounds, and then the Major’s breath, his face closer to her powerless position as he inspected her. Touched her, intimately … probing, exposing … opening, inserting … she recalled the sensation from her dreams.

“Damn fine bitch …” he whispered, believing that she couldn’t hear him. Then he muttered something about needing more ointment for when he came again, before covering her nudity once more with the sheet. She sensed him leave and allowed her still tired eyes to give way to the desperate need for yet more sleep that dwelt within her exhausted body.

Catherine had no idea how long passed before she awoke once more from her fitful slumber. Slowly, as the miasma cleared, she twisted her head and looked around; her brow furrowed.

The Major had been taking care of her wounds? The thought was baffling. Why had they flogged and tortured her so badly … if now they were trying to heal her? Then she recalled what she had said at the end of that awful whipping. She had admitted to abetting the Raiders, and then told the monstrous Lieutenant that William had ridden into North Carolina, when in fact she herself had sent message to him, telling him to go to Kentucky, and to go now, without her.

Had Uncle Billy discovered her duplicity? She knew that her lies would eventually be uncovered, but Catherine hoped that she had been able to buy William the time he needed to put sufficient distance between him and this damnable marauding Union Army. What would they do to her, once they knew she still had not told them any truths? Whip her again, rape her, kill her?

She didn't want to risk finding out. Her baffled thoughts circled around her mind moving at fast pace … too fast for her to properly keep up with. She had to escape while she could. Where would she go, she had little idea, but anywhere was better than staying here. She could get back to White Orchard, see who was left there. Maybe Mary? Then she could make a plan.

Catherine grimaced at the thought of having to move. As she became more conscious the agonies re-emerged and racked her with pain. She waited a few minutes after the Major, the surgeon from the flogging, had left, before standing up to search the room for any clothes.

Upon first contact with the ground her knees wobbled and Catherine was forced to seek support from the bed frame. She was not recovered enough to truly think about moving at all, but steadying herself, she began to look around. Finding nothing and in a fit of befuddled logic that emanated from her addled mind, she chose to wrap the bedsheet around herself.

On still sore feet, with aching limbs and a perplexed mind, she hobbled over to the tent flap, gently pushing it open to peek outside. When she caught no sight of the Major, Catherine gingerly stepped into the open air, letting the flap float softly back into place behind her. Her woozy head swivelled checking all directions as best she could … still no sight of him, or anyone. She moved to turn the corner of the tent, picking a random path upon which to walk, and found herself face-to-face, with a young, blue-coated private soldier.

She let out a yelp of surprise, tumbling backwards and falling onto her rear. The sheet fell away, exposing her body. She looked up at the young man as his eyes stared longingly down at her bared, welted breasts.

"Hello Miss," he said, breaking the silence.


To Be Continued ...

 

[Barbaria1]

Had Uncle Billy discovered her duplicity? She knew that her lies would eventually be uncovered, but Catherine hoped that she had been able to buy William the time he needed to put sufficient distance between him and this damnable marauding Union Army. What would they do to her, once they knew she still had not told them any truths? Whip her again, rape her, kill her?

Yep, good reason to hatch an escape plan before it’s too late!

Upon first contact with the ground her knees wobbled and Catherine was forced to seek support from the bed frame. She was not recovered enough to truly think about moving at all, but steadying herself, she began to look around. Finding nothing and in a fit of befuddled logic that emanated from her addled mind, she chose to wrap the bedsheet around herself.

But, let’s not be hasty about that!

Fossy, you have me identifying and sympathizing with poor Catherine. Well done.

 

[Loxuru]

Chapter 4 – May 14th 1864

A strange wake-up for Catherine. She is obviously coming from far.

Soon, wounded from the battle will come in. Perhaps, she could use the confusion to undertake something.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Finding nothing and in a fit of befuddled logic that emanated from her addled mind, she chose to wrap the bedsheet around herself.

On still sore feet, with aching limbs and a perplexed mind, she hobbled over to the tent flap, gently pushing it open to peek outside. When she caught no sight of the Major, Catherine gingerly stepped into the open air, letting the flap float softly back into place behind her. Her woozy head swivelled checking all directions as best she could … still no sight of him, or anyone.

An excellent escape plan worthy of even Barbara Moore herself!

 

[Fossy]

Chapter 5 – May 15th 1864


“And Kilpatrick is wounded, you say?”

“Yes, General Sir, hit in the thigh …”

“Will he recover?”

“Yes Sir, so I understand Sir, but he will be out of action for a month maybe two.”

“That is not the kind of luck we need, Major. I know that Kilpatrick can be a hell of a damned fool, but I want just that sort of man to command my cavalry on this expedition. You must give him the highest priority.”

Major Watson saluted and was about to leave the General’s presence when he was called back.

“How is the girl?”

“She’s doing well General. She awoke yesterday and I reduced the laudanum.”

“May I see her?” Sherman knew that there would be more fighting today and then he hoped to rout the Rebel army and pursue them, and so his time for Catherine would be very limited.

“You may General. Though I need to inform you that yesterday, when I was not present, I am made to understand that she attempted to leave the tent.”

“Leave the tent, Major? Really and how far did she get?”

“A few yards before she walked headlong into one of the men. So now the tent flap is guarded day and night.”

Sherman nodded. “I understand. And you were right to do that Major. Thank you.”

Despite his failure to break Johnston’s line, May 14th had been a productive day for Sherman. Sweeny’s XVI Corps division had secured the entire area around Lay’s Ferry on the Oostanaula south of the Confederate Army. On May 15th, while pontoon bridges were built for the crossing, Sherman ordered Thomas to assault the section of the Confederate line held by General Hood.

At 11:30 am, Hooker’s Corps advanced astride the Dalton Road where they encountered the ‘Cherokee Battery’ under Capt. Maximillian Van Den Corput. Hooker’s men drove off the gunners but were unable to take possession of the battery until later that evening. By then, Sweeny had successfully crossed the Oostanaula River. Realising he had been flanked, Johnston began to withdraw his troops, and Sherman readied his Army to give chase.


Chapter 6 – Catherine McCown’s Field Hospital Tent, Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 3pm May 15th 1864

The warm afternoon breeze curled through the gently swaying Georgia pines, making their needle boughs hiss. The silent trooper in the patched blue wool tunic perched on the upturned crate, shifted his weight to relieve his aching calves and watched the afternoon sunlight gleaming from the steel rails of the long, winding railroad track below. The cicadas passed inscrutable messages in a monotonous weird chorus that swept up and down the nearby woods, perhaps warning of the approach of the steam engine, wheezing and chugging somewhere in the distance, obscuring the clouds with a stream of smoke.

The rails clacked and hummed. At last he saw the thick plume as the single round eye of the locomotive appeared, scaring a few stem-legged deer picking at the grass that poked through the ties before a sharp nightmare hoot of the whistle sent them bounding.

The man tensed and readied himself. Private Nathanial Butler turned his back to the wind and smoke and fished the flask of corn whiskey from the inner pocket of his tunic. He pulled the stubborn cork from the neck with such force that when it finally popped loose, it tumbled from his fingers and was lost to the dusty ground.

He groaned out a curse his mama back in Greeneville, Tennessee, or East Tennessee as folk were now calling it, would have whipped his hide with a willow switch for even knowing. He surely had picked up some things in the army. He’d learned how to darn socks, chew tobacco, drink moon, clean a musket, and dress a rabbit. Not bad for a store clerk’s son.

He had seen some things, too. A man blown into different parts high into a tree by artillery fire. He’d seen a General ride untouched through a buzzing tempest of minié balls to yell at his men, and he had seen the poor girl, whose tent he now guarded, whipped to within an inch of her life. He hated the feelings that her naked body had fuelled within him, and had done nothing but fight his conscience since they had left that place. Being put on guard duty here by the Surgeon, Major Watson, allowed Nathanial to feel like he was at least taking a small step back onto the ladder of righteousness.

“May I, Private?” The trooper was shaken from his reverie by the sound of a voice filled with assertion.

“Yes Sir, of course General, Sir …” Butler stood and stiffly saluted his Commanding Officer.

Sherman looked the tent up and down and nodded his implied approval. The exit and entry to her tent was manned by an armed guard, in line with Major Watson’s instructions, so she would be both secure and safe, and the Major now felt that she was up to a visit from the him.

Sherman hesitated. Knowing that she had needed, in certain instances, to have carbolic catgut holding her torn flesh together, he wasn't sure if she was ready to see him. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to see her. The girl would be scarred, of that there was no doubt … however there were still decisions to be made about what would happen next, and her condition would be rendered meaningless should she be committed for execution. What a waste of such a beautiful young girl that would be!

"Come in." Catherine said softly, without looking up from her pillow, a pained expression on her face.

The General took a deep breath and stepped inside. A curtain was partially drawn around her bed, and he peeled it fully back, holding his breath.

"Uncle Billy." She opened her closed eyes. "You're still here." She sounded relieved.

Sherman was pleasantly surprised to see his Goddaughter as lucid as this, though he knew from the Major’s reports that, following the extremities of her ordeal, Catherine’s fully conscious state had taken many hours and days to arrive.

"Of course I am Catherine, but the enemy is engaged and so I will imminently be otherwise occupied. " He pulled a chair closer to her bed and sat down in it.

"I'm glad you’re here." She said. "Thank you for saving me." Catherine presented a weak smile. Her face hurt too much to smile like she normally would have.

Catherine lay on her side, still naked, save for her bandaged body, under a thin cover which outlined every nuance of her nubile shape where it came to rest. The pain from her abrasions was easing but she still could not bear anything of substance to touch her.

Save her? Sherman had done nothing of the sort, in fact it was under his sanction that Sampson had been given such free reign to torture and abuse her!

But there was more to Catherine than meets the eye, much more. And so, despite the intolerable flogging and the harsh rape of her body with the wooden phallus, in a moment of epiphany she had decided that her best course of action was to appear coy, demure and remorseful. That way she could play for time, appeal to her Godfather, and maybe even get another message to William.

"I wish I could have stopped him sooner," Sherman said fiercely, “But you … we needed … I had to let him …”.

Catherine shook her head slowly. “I know Uncle Billy. I know also that I have been a silly girl.” Her voice had taken on that “Southern Belle” tone but Sherman was not naïve, and her contrite attitude made him wary.

Sherman looked at her quizzically without speaking, his inner voice emitting a warning against whatever Catherine was about to say. His Goddaughter looked down at the sheets, her eyes cast at the bed, her voice quiet.

“I didn’t know who that man was when he came riding by. He was charming and filled with excitement, and said he was a Confederate Officer.”

“You mean William Quantrill?”

Catherine nodded.

“Do you know what he is, Catherine?” Sherman asked.

Again, the girl nodded.

“And so, you know why we must hunt him down?”

“I do Uncle Billy, and I am sorry if my stubbornness made me suffer more than I needed to, because I know how much that must have hurt you too.”

Sherman cocked his head and looked at the girl. Was she really remorseful, repentant almost? Yet he knew now, from Kilpatrick’s report that she had lied about Quantrill heading to North Carolina. But he needed to hear what she had to say, and so he held his counsel.

Catherine grimaced as pain racked her body once more, then she gently took his hand. "But you stopped things, and you took care of me. That is enough." She insisted.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered. Despite his professional concern about the deception in the words of this delicate young flower of a girl, she was akin to being family for him, and so his heart still wrenched for the state of her wellbeing, she looked so ... broken.

"Nothing for you to apologise for Uncle Billy." She said. "I need to get better now and then help you as much as I can."

"I hope so." He said ... he hesitated. "We don't have to talk about this anymore, right now if you don't want to." But even as he was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb comfortingly over her fingers, he knew there was no avoiding the inevitable need to question her further.

"Thank you." She smiled weakly.

“You’re tired,” Sherman stated.

"They maybe gave me a little too much Laudanum," She said ..."I feel like I am floating."

"I should let you get some rest." He said, standing.

"Don't go yet, you only just got here." He sat back down in the chair.

"Okay, I will stay for a little while longer." He sighed. She was looking calmly at him. Her dark hair was brushed away from her face, and her pale skin was mottled, shoulders and chest bruised dark purple and black. The thin covering slipped as she moved again and Sherman could see that she was still covered in lacerations, cuts and welts, some bandaged, some not. Catherine scowled as she attempted to shift her position, in order to once again cover her body. The General looked away.
“I can get Major Watson to give you more Laudanum if that would help Catherine, it will make you forget for a while?”

She nodded. "Thank you, Uncle Billy, that sounds very agreeable." She said softly.

"Laudanum?" He asked.

Catherine smiled weakly and replied sleepily, "No, Sir … not remembering."

The General expressed a sad smile as he stood to leave. This had been a necessarily amenable visit, but he knew that it wasn’t over, and that Catherine would be interrogated again. News was that Quantrill was nowhere to be seen on the North Carolina trail, and so, now that she was lucid it was imperative that she was once again questioned, and her duplicitous performance exposed.

Blissful in her ignorance of Sherman being aware of her lies, the wounded girl smiled sweetly as Uncle Billy stood to leave.

‘So far so good,’ she thought to herself.


To Be Continued ...

Footnote - The battle timings, happenings and scenes are a true reflection of history. More information on the detail surrounding the Battle of Resaca can be found on the American Battlefields Trust Website.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

A beautiful set and described section. It draws the reader into the story and makes you feel like you are there.

 

[twonines]

Yep, good reason to hatch an escape plan before it’s too late!



But, let’s not be hasty about that!

Fossy, you have me identifying and sympathizing with poor Catherine. Well done.

Which part do you identify with,the duplicity,or the capacity to absorb pain!

 

[Barbaria1]

Which part do you identify with,the duplicity,or the capacity to absorb pain!

A pox on you for even suggesting the former!

 

[twonines]

A pox on you for even suggesting the former!

A pox? I don`t do demerits,but in my imagination you are going to be left very sore and sorry, in keeping with the latter!

 

[Barbaria1]

The warm afternoon breeze curled through the gently swaying Georgia pines, making their needle boughs hiss. The silent trooper in the patched blue wool tunic perched on the upturned crate, shifted his weight to relieve his aching calves and watched the afternoon sunlight gleaming from the steel rails of the long, winding railroad track below. The cicadas passed inscrutable messages in a monotonous weird chorus that swept up and down the nearby woods, perhaps warning of the approach of the steam engine, wheezing and chugging somewhere in the distance, obscuring the clouds with a stream of smoke.

Now THAT is painting a picture with words ...