David Healey - Rebel Train

“Oh? I thought it was Samson, guarding the temple.”

Percy chuckled. “Hudson does not have much faith in humanity. You wouldn’t, either, if you had been born a slave.”

“I’m Irish. That’s close enough.”

The colonel nodded at the group of men now staring at Flynn. “You’ve already met Lieutenant Cater, I believe. This is the rest of the bunch.”

The room was crowded with soldiers. Flynn could see at once that they were all veterans, except for one young fellow who was trying to look fierce, but not quite succeeding. The soldiers shared that same sharp, wary look about the eyes that men who have been in combat frequently develop. These hard-eyed men were all watching Flynn, as was Percy. It was not a friendly welcome.

Flynn smiled at them.

“Well, Sergeant Flynn,” Percy said in his no-nonsense officer’s voice. “I take it you already know Captain Fletcher?”

The young, arrogant captain, well-dressed as usual, stepped in from another room. He saw Flynn and frowned.

“Why, if it ain’t Colonel Norris’s bootlick.”

“Sergeant,” Percy said sharply. “You are speaking to an officer.”

“All right. Why, if it ain’t Captain Bootlick.”

That brought laughter from the men in the room. Even Percy couldn’t suppress a smile. It was easy to see Fletcher was less-than-popular with the other raiders.

“A pleasure to see you, too, Flynn,” said Fletcher, scowling.

Only the man with the bad teeth didn’t laugh. He spoke up: “I don’t believe we need any more hands on this trip, Colonel,” he said, not taking his eyes off Flynn. “Not with this boy Benjamin along. We sure don’t need no damn Irishmen who wander in off the street.”

“That’s Sergeant Hazlett,” Percy said.

Flynn forced himself to smile, even though he wanted nothing better than to smash a fist into Hazlett’s ugly face. He had always found it the quickest way to settle any questions about the Irish being an inferior race. But he was here to join the raid, not start brawls. Besides, Hazlett was surrounded by friends and Flynn was not eager to take on a room full of soldiers.

“It’s not polite to insult strangers, lad,” Flynn said, an edge coming into his voice in spite of himself.

Sensing trouble, Colonel Percy raised a hand. “Save it for the Yankees, boys. There will be no fighting here. We don’t need the Provost Guard snooping around… or Colonel Norris, either. We’re stuck with Flynn and Fletcher, and they’re stuck with us.”

Fletcher muttered something under his breath and disappeared into another room. Flynn hefted the strap of the leather satchel off his shoulder and placed the bag on a nearby table with a heavy sound.

“What’s in there?” Percy asked.

Flynn turned around. Percy was squinting at him again. Did the man need spectacles? Hazlett was glaring, but Flynn ignored him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Flynn unlatched the satchel’s leather flap, then reached inside. He took out a bundled, oily cloth, then unwrapped it to reveal a new, six-shot Colt Navy revolver.

He gave the handgun to Percy and the colonel smiled as he inspected the weapon.

“How did you know we needed guns?” Percy asked.

“Colonel Norris said you might. I happened to know where to find some.” It wasn’t the truth, but Flynn figured the more he could do to make himself look good, the better.

Percy took the revolver, hefted it, and sighted down the barrel. “At least you’re more useful than Fletcher,” he said.

Flynn managed to look hurt. “A man hardly knows what to say to such a compliment. Now, what if I were to tell you I knew something about the part of Maryland we’ll be riding through?”

“What part?”

“Out beyond Harpers Ferry. I worked on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. Backbreaking work, I can tell you. Nothing but rocks in that soil. As you know, Colonel, the tracks of that train you’ll be riding run right along the canal most of the way to the city of Cumberland.”

Percy stroked his beard as Flynn waited. Norris had told him that Percy lacked a guide. Of course, Norris was sending Fletcher because the captain was from Maryland — not that Flynn had much faith in Fletcher’s abilities as a guide. In any case, Norris hadn’t been overly concerned. He pointed out that once Percy and his men were aboard that train, all they had to do was keep the engine stoked and they would end up where they were supposed to rendezvous with the Confederate cavalry. Flynn knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“We don’t need no damn Paddy to guide us,” Hazlett said. “I reckon we can find our own way.”

Colonel Percy held up a hand to silence him. He stared hard at Flynn, who was taken aback by the sudden, flinty expression. Percy, he realized, was not a man to be taken lightly.

“Where we’re going, Hazlett, we’ll need all the help we can get,” Percy said. “If Sergeant Flynn here knows the territory, that’s all the better. At least we won’t be traveling blind. And you seem to have certain persuasive talents, Flynn.”

“’Tis a gift, sir.”

“I’ve heard that about the Irish. Well, we might need all the gifts we have to get us across Maryland and aboard that train.” Percy lowered his voice so the others couldn’t hear. “I won’t say I’m glad you’re here, Flynn, considering you might shoot me in the back at any moment. Don’t forget, of course, that we might do the same to you.”

“Like I said, let’s just do what Norris wants and we’ll all get back home alive,” Flynn said.

Percy nodded, and turned away. Flynn realized he had been dismissed. He gathered up his satchel.

He found Fletcher in the next room and clapped the captain on the arm so hard he winced. “Looks like we’re partners, Captain,” Flynn said.

Curling his lip in distaste, Fletcher moved out from under Flynn’s hand. “Don’t make things worse between us, Flynn. I told these men you were coming, and why.”

“That would explain the warm welcome,” Flynn said.

Fletcher smiled wanly. “From what I’ve heard, I’d say you could use all the friends you can get, Sergeant.”

For once, Flynn thought, Fletcher had a point.

Flynn left the room, and Hazlett walked over to Captain Fletcher. He had sensed the animosity between the two men and his face wore a sly look that quickly vanished as the captain turned around.

“He’s an uppity son of a bitch, ain’t he?” Hazlett said. “He ain’t got no right to treat a man like you that way, Captain.”

Fletcher blinked in surprise. So far, Percy’s men had hardly spoken to him. He studied the lean, scarred face and thought that Hazlett looked to be a particularly hard man. A good man to have on your side.

Up close, Hazlett appeared even more terrifying. He was taller than Fletcher by a head, with long, lank brown hair. The scar made him look evil. His smile revealed oddly spaced teeth that resembled fangs.

“Flynn doesn’t respect his betters,” the captain replied.

“That’s the Irish for you,” Hazlett said with real venom in his voice. He did not like the Irish because he had seen so many of them come to Virginia before the war and rise to success on their farms or with their small businesses. Meanwhile, Hazlett’s own circumstances had hardly improved, despite marrying Percy’s cousin. “People got to know their place. Trash like the Irish and the negroes has got to be kept down.”

Fletcher agreed completely, although he was surprised to hear someone like Hazlett put into words the very thoughts that had been going through Fletcher’s mind.

“He’s uppity, all right,” Fletcher said.

“I’ll put that Paddy in his place. Don’t you worry none about that, sir,” Hazlett said, then saluted the captain and walked away.