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	[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Visionary]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}}		[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Visionary]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}}
	{{title\|name=Brother against Brother\|user=Eirik\|author=Eirik}}		{{title\|name=Brother against Brother\|user=Eirik\|author=Eirik}}{{universe\|Visionary}}
	The light rain that fell from the pale gray sky was making the road		The light rain that fell from the pale gray sky was making the road
	slick. Despite the treacherous conditions, the old supply wagon,		slick. Despite the treacherous conditions, the old supply wagon,

Eirik: New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal Category:Visionary {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}} {{title|name=Brother against Brother|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} The...

2007-09-25T17:51:46Z

New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal Category:Visionary {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}} {{title|name=Brother against Brother|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} The...

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[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Visionary]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}}
{{title|name=Brother against Brother|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}}
The light rain that fell from the pale gray sky was making the road
slick. Despite the treacherous conditions, the old supply wagon,
weighted down heavily with cooking equipment and medical supplies for
the Ohio 5th fighting regiment, sank deeply through the muck to the
hard packed soil below. The pair of Army mules were pulling the
burden easily, but occasionally took a misstep in the muck.

The supplies weren't desperately needed but they were being cautiously
guarded nonetheless. The war between the States was now in it's
fourth year, and it looked like an end was finally in sight. The
South had largely been crushed, and surrender was probably only weeks,
at most months, away. There were few who would have predicted a war
as long and devastating as this when it all began. Now the
Confederacy was on it's knees, and the final blows would come soon.

But the fight raged on and the South, desperately short of all
supplies, had taken to raiding supply lines whenever possible. They
were getting to be more and more a problem for the Union. In fact,
is was unusual for a wagon to be traveling alone now, but they'd been
delayed by a damaged wheel and left behind as the rest of the regiment
moved forward.

Private George Behan sat on the bench, the reigns in his hands. The
water was dripping off his wide brimmed hat steadily, but he didn't
want to complain too loudly. The five men who guarded this cart were
trudging through the mud by foot. Each man was soaked to the bone and
filthy. They kept their rifles ready, but in this weather it was hard
to see how they would fire. But being this far into what only a few
weeks before had been called the Confederate States of America meant
that each man had to stay vigilant, even guarding a simple supply
wagon.

"Private!" yelled Sergeant Walls, "How much farther from the
encampment?"

Behan looked around at the trees and the hills. He'd been born and
raised not far from these parts. He didn't know this area perfectly,
but unlike the rest of the regiment, most of whom hailed from Ohio,
he'd been here before. "Not too long. At this pace, maybe two more
hours."

The tiered looking sergeant nodded and fell back a few steps, tacking
back his post opposite the right front wheel. Behan looked around a
little more and nodded to himself. ''Two more hours is about right.''
he thought. ''Took us about that long when we came up from Atlanta.
Before the war...''

A gunshot broke him out of his thoughts. Startled, he looked up in
time to see the corporal on his left collapse to the ground. Sergeant
Walls had time to shout "Ambush!" before he was thrown backward off
his feet by a bullet to the center of his chest..

Behan felt himself freeze in place. He'd been enlisted in the army
now since the beginning of the war, but he'd seen little action. He'd
never been this close to it, and never in serious danger. For the
briefest of moments, he considered urging the mules on as hard as he
could, hoping that they could outrun the bullets that were sure to fly
his way, when a figure leapt out onto the roadway ahead of him.
Instinctively, George reigned in the mules even as the Rebel soldier
raised his own rifle. He froze on the spot, thinking his life was
over,.

Then the soldier slipped ever so slightly on the sludge and his rifle
dipped. As the shot rang out, George watched in terror as the bullet
struck a mule in the neck and it slumped where is stood. For the
first time, he realized that the other mule had been killed at some
point. In his terror, he hadn't even noticed.

Another shot rang out and the Confederate on the road fell dead.
George snapped out of his frozen panic and tried to leap from the
drivers bench. He was nothing more than a blue target up there. In
his haste, he caught his leg in the reigns and felt himself fall head
over heels off the drivers seat. A loud ''snap'' as he hit the ground
was the first indication to him that he had broken his leg.

He heard more shouts, and more shooting. A hand grabbed him roughly
on the shoulder. "You all right?" yelled the soldier kneeling next to
him. George just shuddered a little and didn't answer.

The young man jumped back to his feet and tried to take a position
behind the wagon to fire into the bushes, but as George watched a
bullet caused his head to explode like a melon. The body slumped to
the ground next to him, spilling blood from the shattered neck into
the roadway. George felt the bile rise in his throat, but he reached
for the young mans rifle, already loaded. He didn't know if it would
fire, the gunpowder probably wet from the rain and mud, but it was his
only chance.

Though the spokes of the wheel, he could see that the small-scale
battle wasn't going well for either side. The attempted ambush hadn't
gone off as planned and it looked like there was little shooting going
on anymore. Only two union guards remained, both taking cover behind
the heavily loaded cart while they vainly tried to load their rifles.

Two forms suddenly burst from the forest behind the cart, only a few
feet from the desperate soldiers. The Rebels were taking advantage of
the two solders reloading and charging with bayonets. They were
slightly too late.

One of the Union soldiers managed to raise his gun and fire just in
time to catch one of the pair in the hip. The soldier, wounded badly
by the close range shot, still had a lot of momentum. He plunged the
bayonet into the soldiers chest even as he tried to raise his own in
defense.

The other Union soldier managed to dodge the charge and smashed the
attacker on the head with his rifle butt. Even as he clubbed the
solder again in the back of the head, the wounded Confederate ran him
through the back with his bayonet.

Through his pain, George struggled to steady the rifle from the
headless private. He couldn't survive a fight if the rebel wanted it.
With trembling hands desperately tried to keep it from falling back
into the water. The rebel soldier soon came around the corner of the
wagon and saw that there was another survivor. Both men raised their
rifles with the intent to fire, and then stopped.

"George?" asked the soldier quietly.

George didn't answer at first. He was too shocked by what he was
seeing. A face that he hadn't seen since before the war, a face
streaked with years of blood, tears and heartache. The face of his
older brother. "David?"

Shocked as they were about this reunion, neither man lower his rifle.
They hadn't parted on the best of terms. When the war started to loom
imminent, George had gone to the North to find work, and soon
enlisted. His family may have lived in Georgia, but he knew that the
South would never succeed on its own. A war was fought with the blood
of men, and the North was far larger. Besides, the pay was supposed
to be better.

David Behan had gone to fight for Georgia. He couldn't have cared
less about slavery. His family didn't have a prospect of ever owning
any anyway. But he was a Georgian first and an American second. When
George had announced that he was going to enlist with a Northern
regiment, they had parted with bitter words.

Now both brothers stood in a light rain, covered in mud and gore, with
rifles trained on each other. Neither man looked like he was going to
budge.

"You're looking well." Said David quietly, breaking the silence.

George allowed himself a slight smile. "I don't feel well. My leg's
busted." He shifted the rifle in his hands.

David seemed to wince more than smile. "One of your comrades in arms
took a chunk out of my hip." He said, slightly indicating the huge,
bloody gash in his leg. "I don't think that I'm gonna make it."

George didn't dare lower his rifle. "We can get to the surgeon in
just a little while. They're just down the road."

His brother shook his head. "I won't let myself me captured." He
indicated the supply wagon, "My regiment needs those supplies. I need
to get them, no matter what the cost."

George gritted his teeth as he laughed. "You'd kill me over a
cartload of cooking supplies?"

"If I need too."

George's smile faded. "But we're brothers." he said quietly.

"Not anymore."

George didn't want to kill his brother, but he didn't want to die
either. He steadied the rifle in his hands. "Brother or not, I'm not
going to let you kill me." Almost in a detached manner, he felt his
finger close around the trigger and pull back ever so slightly.

"I wouldn't do that." Came the sound of a new voice. In surprise, the
pair of enemies turned their rifles on the new target. The old man
they pointed their weapons seemed more amused than scared. "I'm glad
to see that you're not about to kill each other anymore, but I'm not
at all pleased to be the new target."

Both brothers were taken aback by this man. He wore a dark wool
overcoat, and even though he seemed soaked to the bone, he didn't seem
at all disheveled. His pants were not dirty from walking even a step
on the muck coated road. On his head he worn a stove pipe hat, as
black as his coat. George at first thought that this man might be a
union officer, his dark coat could easily have been wet navy blue.
But he seemed far too old to still be an active duty officer and he
wore no insignia, no shoulder bars, not even gold buttons on his coat.
Somehow, the two brothers unconsciously seemed to feel that this
newcomer was a greater threat to them that each other. They kept
their rifles trained on the old man.

David nervously fingered his trigger. "Who are you? What are you
doing here?"

Despite the two weapons pointed at him, he seemed completely at ease.
"David, who I am isn't important. In a way, I'm here to help you." He
indicated George, "You and George."

George felt his rifle dip ever so slightly. It was possible that this
man knew them. After all, they were less than fifty miles from their
old home. This man could simply be a traveler from the town in which
they grew up. "How do you know us?" he asked.

"I know a lot about the two of you." He indicated David. "Master
Sergeant David Behan of the Georgia 65th, a unit all but wiped out in
the Battle of Gettysburg. Currently assigned by his commanding
officer to raid Union convoys for supplies." He face got grim. "Now
dying of a severe wound to the hip, and bleeding from the femoral
artery. He'll be dead before the sun sets tonight."

Even as George looked at his brother in shock, the old man settled his
eyes on him. "And you, Private George Behan, currently assigned to
convoy duty for the Ohio 5th. You've never seen any real action,
having been assigned to support duties for most of your four years in
the service. You've broken your leg severely, beyond help. It will
turn gangrenous and be amputated by the company surgeon, and you'll
die of complications within the month."

"Who the hell are you?" shouted David, apparently shaken by the cold
prediction of his doom.

The old man shrugged, "A friend." He pointed at the gun in David's
hand. "Look, as patient as I am, I still dislike waiting. Either put
the gun down and we'll talk, or pull the trigger and we'll talk.
Either way is fine with me."

George didn't know what to think as he watched his brother. David was
getting steadily paler and had started to shudder slightly. Some of
it was fear, but like George, some of it was pain. George could see
the emotions, the panic, flow across his brothers expression. In
truth, George was feeling much the same. This old man was scaring the
hell out of him. There was no earthly reason for him to be so calm in
the face of two soldiers with guns.

Finally, David seemed to make up his mind. He pulled the trigger.

There was a loud click as the hammer came down, but no explosion of
gunpowder. David and George both seemed stunned. The old man just
smiled thinly. "Don't look so shocked. Both of those things were
loaded with wet powder. Chances were pretty good that they weren't
going to fire." He looked pointedly at George, "You want to test it
yourself?"

Somehow, George knew that the old man was right. George let the
barrel dip down into the thin layer of muck and gore. "Who are you?"
he asked, repeating his brothers question.

The man said nothing, but walked over to David who was still standing
and staring at the gun in his hands as if it had betrayed him. The
man gently removed the rifle from his unresisting fingers. "Com'on,
sit down. You're in no condition to stand." He helped the
Confederate sergeant to the ground next to the Union Private.

George and David now sat within inches, but didn't look at each other,
didn't converse. The man shook his head grimly. "Is there so much
bad blood between the two of you that you are not going to even speak?
You have not seen each other in more than four years."

David snorted, "Ever since ''he'' left to fight against his home."

George started to protest, but was interrupted. "That's hardly fair,
and you know it. He didn't believe in the ideals that the Confederacy
stood for, so how could he fight for them?"

David turned on the old man. "Who gives a damn about ideals? I was
fighting for Georgia."

"So was I." Said George. "In my own way."

The man in black seemed to find this amusing. "Tell me, George. What
ideals were you fighting for? Union? You never really gave that much
thought. Slavery? I know that you didn't like it, but you didn't
care all that much one way or the other. Not enough to die for it.
No, you hadn't gone to the North to fight. You'd gone to work, and
the Army was where you found your pay."

The man looked between the two men. "There is little that I can say
here today that will heal the rift between you two. I have a feeling,
a strong one, that given time you two could have worked out your
differences. I know that you still care for each other."

David coughed a couple of times. His face had grown steadily paler
over the last several minutes. "He stopped being my brother when he
enlisted with the Federals." He said quietly.

"Then why didn't you just shoot him when you saw him?"

"My gun wouldn't fire, it was wet."

"You didn't know that then. Why didn't you run him through with your
bayonet? The same as you'd just done to Corporal Fredrick?" asked the
old man quietly.

David had no response, and George dared not say anything. He'd felt
much the same about his brother for a time, though in reality had
assumed him dead since the Battle of Gettysburg. So few of his
regiment survived.

The old man sighed and shook his head. "I wish that I could stand
here and help the two of you, but frankly I don't have the time. The
fact of the matter is that I'm not here because of the two of you, but
rather for this cargo wagon."

George looked at him out of shock. "You're here to steal this?" he
asked, incredulous.

"No, no. I'm here to make sure that it makes it to the final
destination. There are five cases of medical equipment in here. The
Ohio 5th is going to capture a number of Confederates, some wounded,
by tomorrow evening, and these supplies will be needed." The man
walked to the front of the wagon and looked mournfully at the two dead
mules. "I see, sergeant, that you had a rather poor shot in your
outfit. Or did you plan on moving this wagon without pack animals?"
He sighed. "No matter. I guess that I'll have to make due with you
two. I just hope that you'll learn to work together again."

The moment that the man stopped talking, the tremendous, nearly
blinding pain in George's leg seemed to vanish. A warm feeling spread
through his body and he struggled to his feet. Even as he managed to
stand upright, his weight shifted and he fell forward. He shook his
head and looked at where his hands should be. All he saw were a set
of hooves. He turned to call out to his older brother, and was
shocked to see a mule struggling to stand on the slick roadway. In
surprise more than panic, George brayed loudly.

He felt a warm hand on his new muzzle. "Calm down, George. I know
that this is a surprise, but frankly I need you two like this." By
this time, David was looking on wide eyed. "Look at this as a second
chance. I'll see to it that you two remain together. It won't be an
easy life for either of you. But you'll be alive and together."

It took a little pushing, but soon the old man had hitched the two new
mules into position. As he finished, the man contemplated simply
erasing their minds. Somehow, he knew that neither man would ever be
able to fully accept what happened. Already he sensed that David
believed this was all part of an injury induced delusion. George was
more accepting but was fighting the basic mulish instincts and
training that had been imprinted over his thoughts.

The man sighed again and thought better of it. These two brothers
deserved a chance to come to terms with each other. It would be a
long time, but they'd manage.

Before he urged them forward, the old man surveyed the gory battle
scene. The light rain that was still falling was diluting the spilled
blood and mixing it with the dark brown muck on the road. Ten young
men lay dead all around him. Men that were long beyond help.

He shook his head and looked up at the gray sky above. "How is it
possible that anything good could come out of something so
horrifying?" he asked. When the sky failed to answer, he simply urged
the two mules forward.

He had a long way to go.

User:Eirik/Brother Against Brother - Revision history

ShadowWolf: add {{universe}}

Eirik: New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal Category:Visionary {{DEFAULTSORT:Brother against Brother}} {{title|name=Brother against Brother|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} The...