Post by Ken Corbett on Dec 16, 2010 0:27:33 GMT -5
Here is the first chapter of my so-far untitled new Langton adventure. Working title: Origins.
Ken
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
« It's over now, Langton. »
Langton stood at attention, eyes fixed on the general, standing before him in bloody, soiled rags that had once carried the epaulets of an army commander. On the field, blue-coated soldiers walked among the corpses, bayonets flashing in the sunlight, except those blades covered in gore. Any Confederate soldiers who could stand dropped their weapons, raised their hands and begged for mercy.
« At ease, soldier, and that's the last order I can give you. « The young batman and the old general stood patiently, arms down, as the Union soldiers came near.
« Hands up, you filthy rebs, or I'll shoot, « bellowed a burly pasty-faced Union soldier, two rows of corpses away.
Sweat ran down in muddy runnels over his face, and his mouth was contorted in a crooked snarl. Langton caught the stench of rotgut liquor on his breath and in his clothing.
« Well, what do we have here now, » said the lout, his voice raising in recognition. « It's a gen-you-whine reb general. I got mighty big plans for you, general. Ease them fancy pearl-handled pistols out of your holster, and toss them over here gently, hear? »
The general slowly moved his hands toward his guns, then stopped just before his hand would close on the gleaming creamy white handles. « You touch the kid and I'll kill you. »
The bluecoat edged the twin barrels of a sawed off shotgun away from the general, slowly over to point at Langton's middle. « Toss them over here nice and easy on this feller's back beside me. He ain't gonna mind none no more. Do it now or I'll shoot the kid, first load of buckshot for him, the second for you. »
The general halted briefly, feverishly weighing his options. The soldier's trigger finger began to close on the first trigger, ever so slowly yet not stopping, all in a time that knew neither forward nor back.
« All right, » said the general at last. First one, then two, pistols flew through the air … but they did not find the soft landing the drunk had ordered. One landed in a pool of mud and blood, ruined and worthless. The other chinked and clattered off a rock, scratching the pearl handles and streaking the chrome metal body.
« Rotten bastard, you'll pay for that. » The drunk lunged forward, swinging his rifle butt in a short sharp arc at the general's face. The general ducked, but caught the butt on the shoulder and fell backward in pain.
« I'll touch the pretty boy all I want, you worthless old man, » as he twisted his fleshy features in a loathsome grimace and took a step toward the youth.
« Hold it right there. » The general raised himself up on one knee, and trained the gun he had pried from the cold hand of a Confederate soldier's body on the drunken soldier's back. The drunk stopped, and slowly twisted around to see the gun pointed at his gut. His shoulders tensed.
« That's enough, Beale! Drop it now!» The voice came from several steps away, and carried the unmistakeable tones of a man accustomed to giving orders and seeing them carried out. « General, drop your gun this second. I'll give you both one chance … obey or die. »
« But Captain Dineen, this man tried to kill me, « whined Beale.
« Now, Beale! » Dineen repeated, and pointed his Colt into Beale's face, only inches away. Slowly, Beale let the sawed-off shotgun fall. Behind him, the general's six-shooter fell to the dust with a soft thud.
« The two of you, over there, Get in line with the others. Move it. »
Slowly, the general got up, and his batman fell in behind, joining the long line of prisoners on the march to some squalid stockade hell knows where. As they passed Beale, Langton heard Beale cursing under his breath.
« You'll get yours general, just you wait. »
Langton was young, but he was wise. He would not forget the names of the two soldiers who played their different roles in his surrender … and in the general's surrender as well.
Ken
Ken
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
« It's over now, Langton. »
Langton stood at attention, eyes fixed on the general, standing before him in bloody, soiled rags that had once carried the epaulets of an army commander. On the field, blue-coated soldiers walked among the corpses, bayonets flashing in the sunlight, except those blades covered in gore. Any Confederate soldiers who could stand dropped their weapons, raised their hands and begged for mercy.
« At ease, soldier, and that's the last order I can give you. « The young batman and the old general stood patiently, arms down, as the Union soldiers came near.
« Hands up, you filthy rebs, or I'll shoot, « bellowed a burly pasty-faced Union soldier, two rows of corpses away.
Sweat ran down in muddy runnels over his face, and his mouth was contorted in a crooked snarl. Langton caught the stench of rotgut liquor on his breath and in his clothing.
« Well, what do we have here now, » said the lout, his voice raising in recognition. « It's a gen-you-whine reb general. I got mighty big plans for you, general. Ease them fancy pearl-handled pistols out of your holster, and toss them over here gently, hear? »
The general slowly moved his hands toward his guns, then stopped just before his hand would close on the gleaming creamy white handles. « You touch the kid and I'll kill you. »
The bluecoat edged the twin barrels of a sawed off shotgun away from the general, slowly over to point at Langton's middle. « Toss them over here nice and easy on this feller's back beside me. He ain't gonna mind none no more. Do it now or I'll shoot the kid, first load of buckshot for him, the second for you. »
The general halted briefly, feverishly weighing his options. The soldier's trigger finger began to close on the first trigger, ever so slowly yet not stopping, all in a time that knew neither forward nor back.
« All right, » said the general at last. First one, then two, pistols flew through the air … but they did not find the soft landing the drunk had ordered. One landed in a pool of mud and blood, ruined and worthless. The other chinked and clattered off a rock, scratching the pearl handles and streaking the chrome metal body.
« Rotten bastard, you'll pay for that. » The drunk lunged forward, swinging his rifle butt in a short sharp arc at the general's face. The general ducked, but caught the butt on the shoulder and fell backward in pain.
« I'll touch the pretty boy all I want, you worthless old man, » as he twisted his fleshy features in a loathsome grimace and took a step toward the youth.
« Hold it right there. » The general raised himself up on one knee, and trained the gun he had pried from the cold hand of a Confederate soldier's body on the drunken soldier's back. The drunk stopped, and slowly twisted around to see the gun pointed at his gut. His shoulders tensed.
« That's enough, Beale! Drop it now!» The voice came from several steps away, and carried the unmistakeable tones of a man accustomed to giving orders and seeing them carried out. « General, drop your gun this second. I'll give you both one chance … obey or die. »
« But Captain Dineen, this man tried to kill me, « whined Beale.
« Now, Beale! » Dineen repeated, and pointed his Colt into Beale's face, only inches away. Slowly, Beale let the sawed-off shotgun fall. Behind him, the general's six-shooter fell to the dust with a soft thud.
« The two of you, over there, Get in line with the others. Move it. »
Slowly, the general got up, and his batman fell in behind, joining the long line of prisoners on the march to some squalid stockade hell knows where. As they passed Beale, Langton heard Beale cursing under his breath.
« You'll get yours general, just you wait. »
Langton was young, but he was wise. He would not forget the names of the two soldiers who played their different roles in his surrender … and in the general's surrender as well.
Ken