And went! Gunfire and loud cursing from the wooded area behind the barn woke both men, bringing them to their feet, guns at the ready. The horses were quiet, almost as if they, too, knew this was the time for silence.

“I’m going up top to see what’s going on.” Nolan scrambled out of the stall and nearly flew up the ladder to the loft.

Straw trickled down through the upper floor, and he heard Nolan crack the window open. Noise from outside the barn suggested they had trouble.

“Two horses with riders just shot across the grounds followed by Union forces on horseback. There were at least ten Union soldiers. One shot just took out the front rider.” Nolan’s voice competed with the sound of horses.

“The other rider slowed, but then kicked his horse into a run towards the woods behind us. I recognize the man leading the soldiers,” he uttered loud enough for Jackson to hear. “It's Marshall Jameson.” Nolan turned around and threw his body against the wall. “This could be bad all the way around.”

“What? Marshall’s out there?” Jackson scuttled. He grabbed his gun and sprinted to where Nolan was watching the scene play out. A thousand questions flooded his mind at once. What if they stopped and came in the barn? How would he explain his and Nolan’s presence here? How long had Marshall been watching the area? What time was it?

Jackson’s left hand scrambled into his pocket, trying to find his watch. “Seven o’clock.” They might have been in the clear if they had just gotten out of there a half-hour earlier. Now, they had to see what opportunities presented themselves. He would not show himself if he didn’t have to.

Marshall and his men disappeared into the back wooded area. He fully expected them to reappear to check the dead man, who didn’t seem too dead at all. The captive was crawling away. Jackson felt sure this was Sam Black or her husband. Poised to fire, he waited. Before the thought was cold, a shot came from the other side of the woods. Someone was firing at an injured man… no, it was a woman. Her hat fell off revealing her identity.

Confederate soldiers emerged from the woods. The damn Confederate pickets must have spotted Marshall in the area and gathered reinforcements.

Marshall’s men rode back through the woods, their prisoner riding in tow. They did not understand they were riding into hell. They had captured the Blacks—both. One was dead, and the other was in ropes, bound to his horse.

Before Jackson could fire off a shot or do anything to warn his buddy that the Rebs had him surrounded, they attacked.

“Hell, and damnation! Marshall needs help. He won’t escape this one, not unless those Rebel guns are filled with air.”

“No, wait! He could still get out of this.”

“I don’t see how.”

The fighting paused as the smoke cleared.

Five of Marshall’s men were down, along with several Rebs, and the still bound prisoner, Black. There were at least three dead or wounded horses. Marshall’s men, or what was left, turned and tried to escape into the wooded area with the larger Confederate force in pursuit.

Jackson didn’t bother to count the Rebs on the ground. His heart stopped when he recognized that one of the wounded was Marshall. The movements Marshall made were small, but they told Jackson that his friend was still with him.

Marshall is still alive, but for how long?

“I’ve got to help him. You stay Nolan. Hide deep in the straw. When this skirmish clears, head back to your men.” At odds with his words, he stopped and shook his head. “I cannot believe I said that. But I meant it, God help me.”

“Wait, let me help you, Jackson. I will go to the Confederates. They may recognize me. You brought me this uniform.” He scrambled into the uniform as he spoke.

“Get it on. Then get out of here, first chance you get. I don’t want to tell your sister you died while I was trying to help you. Hide." He checked the scene out front once more. "I have to help Marshall.” He climbed down the ladder, checked his horse, and then went to the front. “Lock this door if you see trouble,” he called back as loudly as he dared.

Jackson peered out the front of the barn. It was clear. He wished it were darker. It would be soon, but he needed to move now. Marshall needed help before he was recognized as a Union officer and captured. He slipped out and moved towards the safety of a deeply shaded adjoining pen. 

Think! There is a way out of this chaos. I need to think of it and quickly.

The wounded were all spread out, covering at least an acre. Marshall had stopped moving. The Rebs had pursued Marshall’s men, into the forested area to the back. Shots were going off.

He tried to be hopeful.

Two soldiers had stayed behind, but they were busy stealing clothing and things from one of Marshall’s badly injured men towards the back of the farm. From the looks, there was money, because they were whooping and pouncing all over the poor man. That couldn’t last long.

Jackson needed to see how hurt he was before he could make any real escape. Blood was coming from his leg. That could be a blessing and a curse. Moving gingerly, he crouched down. Marshall wasn’t too far from the barn.

Marshall was awake; his eyes bored into Jackson’s own. While he asked nothing, his face demanded answers. Jackson just gave a slight nod his way and muttered, “Later.” He hefted Marshall up and the two of them ambled away from the makeshift battlefield.

They almost made it, but the timing wasn’t on their side. A gunshot cracked across the farm as the Confederates burst through the tree cover and surrounded them, guns drawn.

* * *

Nolan watched from the safety of the loft, chewing a piece of straw. He was deciding. The easy thing would be to do as Jackson ordered, but he couldn’t. There was only one of him, and those were his men. He was almost sure. Jackson, the man who had saved his life and risked his own, was now being led away, likely to end up in the Salisbury Prison Camp, a place known to be worse than Hell.

Nolan looked at the sun. It was almost down. He needed more time. He locked the door to the barn and went back up the loft, waiting and watching.

Nightfall came, and it was time to move. The horses were still silent in the stall. They had gotten a sufficient fill of the hay and water. Good horses were scarce.

He needed to protect both Mason and his horse, but they had to be with him to make his escape successful. The smile was hard to hold back as he looked over Mason. He rode him, knowing how close the horse was to Jackson. If a mount were lost, it most likely would be the one in tow.

He got on Mason, and his own mare followed behind, perhaps relieved it didn’t carry a man. The barn was dark; it was time.

Once outside he urged the steed forward. They quietly followed the voices off in the distance. He noticed how stealthily Jackson’s horse moved. Jackson worked with his horse. Trusted him. It was unusual that a Yankee could sit a horse as well as a Southerner. He respected that.

His men had taken Marshall, Jackson, Black, and the others a mile or so down the road. They set up camp in the nearby woods, taking advantage of a nearby stream. Surely the loud celebrating could be heard all the way to headquarters in Kinston. It was an unexpected victory trophy to have two enemy officers in tow.

He winced as he thought of Marshall walking all this way, wounded. The man had aggravated him and taunted him with his attraction to Sara, and the attention he showed her. As much as he’d like to pay him back, that wasn’t what he would wish for him.

His men were loud and easily followed. Not the best course of action for them, but he had counted on their miscalculation. Hopefully, he would have time to deal with that later.

The camp was surrounded by trees and bordered a small creek. The darkness shrouded the outer edges as light danced off the campfire, lighting the center of the activity. He spotted where the prisoners were being held. They sat close together, bound and gagged in a tent in the back of their camp.

Good fortune might be with him. The captured horses were tied up nearby.

Nolan tied Mason and his horse up to a tree out of notice, away from the other horses. He furtively moved towards the back of the camp, keeping his celebrating men in sight. They were full of themselves, bragging and talking big about how they were all going to get promotions for capturing two Union officers. One was holding up items stolen from the dead.

He could hear their revelry and could catch details he needed. Capturing the Blacks was their target as well. Mr. Black was bound, gagged and secured to a tree under a special guard. The body of his wife was still strapped to the horse in the distance. Nolan hoped the two Union officers being bragged about were still okay.

He moved quietly, pulling back behind a large sycamore tree when he saw the sentry at his post in front of the tent. If he cut the back of the tent, he risked being heard, especially if the men inside said anything. Going to the front would afford him the least surprise to the men inside. It depended on how alert the sentry was.

It was decided. He checked his pistol.

* * *

Damn! For Jackson, things had gone from difficult to bad to worse, and he didn’t know how to fix it. His best friend had been shot and probably would lose his leg if he didn’t get attention. He was supposed to rescue him, not get caught. Through all of this, Marshall hadn’t uttered a word to him, not even a small “Hi.”

Jackson figured it could all break loose if they got out of this, but he’d risk it. Anything, if they could escape. He knew he’d have to explain his presence at the same farm that Marshall had tracked the Blacks to.

Did they get anything from Black, any confession? Did Marshall even know about the Summers?

He and Nolan had buried them. He doubted it. Marshall hadn’t opened his eyes in a while. Jackson poked him.

His eyes shot open. He gave a small glare and he shut them again.

“Fine,” he whispered. “Be that way. I am sorry for this mess, but I was trying to help. We will discuss this later, not now.”

The other men looked at him, obviously wondering what was going on between these two.

Yes, I’ll explain once I figure out what I will say. It needs to be plausible. Argh! I need a miracle to pull me out of this.

A vision of Ella backed up onto his desk came to mind. He groaned. That was not the miracle he wanted, at least not right now.

Marshall’s glare shot daggers at him.

Jackson knew he was getting no place with Marshall right now. He’d worry about that later. He closed his eyes. His body stirred with the memory of lustrous red hair and thoroughly kissed lips.

Transported, he went back to the library. He heard her soft moans of feigned protest as she arched her body closer to his. His blood heated at the memory.

The state of his clothing brought him back to the tent, his vision of Ella gone in an instant. He wouldn’t risk looking down but could tell that he was near to bursting his pants open.

Ignoring good sense, he looked around anyway. The only eyes on him were Marshall’s. They weren’t cold and dark. No, they were full of mirth, amused at the predicament Jackson created for himself. Well, that was at least a change of mood in the right direction, even if it was at his expense. He’d take it.

Noise at the front of the tent got their attention. It sounded like a sharp blow and a body falling. What now?

* * *

Opting to create a backdoor, Nolan cracked the butt of his gun on the unsuspecting sentry’s head. He had been sleeping. There would be changes when he got back to camp. This lack of discipline would be their undoing.

Sneaking around to the back, he grabbed the knife he had borrowed from the sentry. He tapped his pocket, making sure the gun he borrowed was there, too. A slice through the center and he was sure to get attention. He held his finger over his mouth, surprising everyone inside.

Nolan was dressed in the Confederate officer’s uniform. This would probably be a good story told for a while. He hoped to not be recognized by anyone other than Marshall and Jackson.

Luck was with him. “Quiet now. Colonel, hold up your bindings.” He cut them and handed Jackson the knife. Jackson reached around and cut the rest of the bindings from the men.

“Quiet, men. Don’t talk.” His voice was an urgent whisper. “We don’t want to disturb the party going on out front.” Smiles went up as the men followed Nolan and Jackson out. Once Marshall moved to the opening in the tent, Jackson and Nolan, together, pulled him out of the tent. Jackson gripped his arm under Marshall’s and helped him walk.

“The horses are over there, in the tall brush.” The men worked their way towards the horses and quietly mounted them. His voice a low whisper, Jackson ordered them to stay silent, move out slowly, and meet them at the road.

Nolan and Jackson helped Marshall mount his horse and sent him out after the men. “Mason is back here, waiting.” The two men, sure the others had gotten away, moved towards their own horses.

“Thank you, Nolan. I was sure you would follow orders and be gone from here, but I appreciate that you didn’t. I should have listened to you and waited. Ha! That is one Confederate strategy I learned from this day.”

“Well, I don’t listen to enemy orders.” He smiled at Jackson, his hand extended. “Brother.”

Jackson smiled and shook Nolan’s hand. “I’ve learned much from this time we’ve spent together, Nolan. You are an honorable man. I wish I could do more for you, but I promise I will take care of your family until you return. And you will return. A smart, savvy, man like yourself—I only wish you were on our side. I’m glad to call you my brother, and also my friend. Godspeed.”

Nolan’s throat tightened with emotion. “I gathered up a few arms for you and the men. You may need them.” He handed Jackson the gun he had taken from the sentry as well as a small sack of guns he had found lying outside the tent. He snorted. “They were the confiscated weapons that were being taken to the commanding officer.”

“You are a constant surprise to me, Whitford. Thank you for that.”

“One more thing.” Nolan needed to tell him this. He trusted him, and he wanted a way to communicate with his family. “Carter—we talked, and there’s a place we know that I will leave him messages—only messages for my family. I will send word once I get back to camp. It may take a little while for messages to get to you.” He waited for Jackson’s reaction.

Jackson nodded. “That makes sense. I won’t ask any details, and I will not question Carter. I appreciate your trust.”

The two men urged their horses forward slowly. Soon, each peeled off in a different direction. Jackson turned towards the road and joined his men. Nolan took a shortcut he remembered. He still had a distance to go before getting to Kinston.

Nolan wanted to make sure they got away, but he couldn’t risk being caught with them in case they ran into a picket or other trouble. He pulled off the side of the road about half a mile ahead of Jackson and waited under a bridge.

His patience was rewarded when the sound of horses was almost upon him a few minutes later. Staying as still as he could, he let them pass over the bridge he stood under. Coming out to make sure it was Jackson, he spotted Jackson and Marshall pulling up the rear.

“Ah! The twin colonels,” he said, smiling to himself. He could head to his camp in Kinston knowing he had taken care of things back home.

He mounted his horse and headed back the way Jackson and his men had come. With any luck, he would reach his men in a matter of hours. A mile or so later, he turned at Wyse Fork and headed into Kinston, darkness enveloping him. He kept to the side of the road, mindful of Carter’s warning and determined to stay alive.