150 Years Ago

[jwhouk]

(Nod nod nod nod nod)

[jwhouk]

---

Austin returned just after Hough had arrived with the stew. The nurse had given him some bicarbonate, and had gently suggested sticking to breads – so the stew didn't look very appetizing to him. Hatch and Hough dug in hungrily, but Watts ended up picking at the bowl, only idly munching on the biscuits.

Cornelius was having issues with getting the stew to his mouth. Billens loosened up one of the chains securing his arms to allow him to eat, relatively unabated. Even then, however, it was obvious his mind was otherwise occupied.

Watts was given the task of seeing if Dashnois wanted to eat - with no response from the big Belgian. He decided not to push it, and returned to the "sitting room" of the suite.

"We should be in Huntington in a few hours, 'cordin' to Alexander," Austin said. "We do have the option of stayin' on the boat, or gettin' a room in the city."

"Helluva choice if ya ask me," Hatch said between bites. "Move ol' Johnny Reb into a city on the edge of Dixie, or sit on a boat where we're sittin' ducks – 'specially cause of that spy."

"Them soldiers Miss McBride is watchin' are stayin' on board," Austin stated. "An' the Pinkerton gentlemen told me the boat would be guarded by some o' his men, as well as the Indiana 12th who are picketin' the city presently."

"Aw, yeah, that's right," Hough piped up. "Remember that other bunch of soldiers we saw on the way down from Madison? They were headin' over there."

"Perhaps we can convince their commander to spare a soldier or two." Billens looked back into the sleeping quarters. "We'd need one to replace Dashy there."

"Mmmph." Hatch had a sudden bout of inspiration. He sang quietly:

Who's the mighty Frog boy who hails from old Green Bay?
no less than mighty Dasnois, he's here to save the day
he's here for War and Glory and never known to fail
except when loosing breakfast, dashing to the rail!

Dashing, Dashing, Dashing to the rail!
Dashnois feeds the fishies, dashing to the rail.

This brought some brief chuckles from all in the room.

Never mind the musket, or the bayonet;
Dashnois got a pistol, that he ain't fired yet.
A Pinkerton done crushed it, now hear old Dashnois wail
and once more lead the foray, dashing to the rail!

Dashing, Dashing, Dashing to the rail!
Dashnois feeds the fishies, dashing to the rail.

Now, the others started to chime in on the chorus – at the expense of their comrade, who was sleeping like a baby in the next room.

Dashnois saw the prisoner try to get away
He stepped right up to stop him and said "now here you'll stay"
He wound up in an armlock that left him rather pale,
but even so 'tis better than dashing to the rail!

Dashing, Dashing, Dashing to the rail!
Dashnois feeds the fishies, dashing to the rail.

Even Cornelius couldn't help laughing after that last one. All seven of them sang the chorus together several times – with much laughter.

They all devoured the rest of the meal with smiles on their faces.

[Sgt. Howard]

"Tanner' was on the Starboard third deck Promenade, looking aimlessly across the water. A series of flashes in Morse code was communicating some unknown message to him... and he was responding with a small looking glass of his own. The casual observer would not notice anything out of the ordinary... but the eyes in the shadow were not casual about it. The mind behind those eyes understood the short and long flashes coming in, even if she could not see the outbound messages. She had followed this man when she recognized his smell as a black-haired man, so the red-headed appearance only served to fully arouse her suspicions.
And appetite.
What words came from the shoreline clearly were from a Confederate agency of some stripe, and the fellow daintily playing with a small hand mirror was clearly the recipient. Given that his previous appearance matched the man described by the Confederate prisoner on board Indicated even more.
He was fair game...

"So... when did you come up with THAT little ditty?" Chuckled Watts while wiping a tear from his eye.
"Well, his name y'see... an' him 'Dashing to the Rail' after breakfast... an' I always enjoyed singing 'Goober Peas'... well, it just sorta fell together,"
"Well done Hatch," Billens allowed, "you ought to write that one down, I would like to sing it to my grandchildren someday,"
"HAH!" exploded Hough, "'supposin' along with 'Mary McCartney'?"
All chuckled at the idea of singing THAT ribald song in front of family.
"Or... 'the Bosom of Sweet Abigail'?" offered Hatch.
"I don't know that one," Watts responded.
Hatch and Hough looked at each other, then to Billens- "you are in earnest?" Billens asked.
Watts nodded.
"Well! an Innocent! You fellers able to harmonize? I might need some help here,"
"Bass" piped up Hatch.
"Tenor" responded Hough.
"Lead at best" stated Austin
"I guess that corners Austin and I for lead Baritone... gentlemen... opening lead note... one two three one-

"On the bosom of dear Abigale- in tattoo is the price of her tail- on her fanny you'll find, for the sake of the blind, the same information transcribed into brail...
With a talent remarkably hers- she'll do just as a client prefers- on a mattress well worn, with the sheets slightly torn, and the bedposts all carved up by spurs..."

Watts was near hysterics at the words- Cornelius smiled happily at the serenade. None of the singers gave full throat to the song (obviously), yet the mirth it gave crossed all barriers for just a few moments- there were two more sets of verses (NOT suitable to some, therefore omitted) before they ended the three part harmony with a mild flourish.
At length, Cornelius spoke, "I don't suppose you fellers know 'Rose of Alabamy'?"
There was some surprised faces, then Hatch lead off,
"Away from Mississippi's vale with my ol' hat there for a sail I crossed upon a cotton bale to the Rose of Alabamy"
Hough joined in, as did Watts and Billens- Cornelius listened with a slightly wet eye.
"Oh sweet Rosie, Rose of Alabamy, my sweet tobacco Posie is my Rose of Alabamy,"

At this point, Cornelius joined in- mind you, the other fellows were quite competent- Hatch once more climbed into the rafters while Hough 'Growled away' in the finest traditions and Austin joined with Billens in the lead- but when Cornelius opened his throat, and poured out that clear, bell quality vocal... well the other fellows lost a half-beat out of pure shock... but their recovery came together and encouraged them to put a little more quality into their song.

"The river rolled the crickets sang the lightin' bug he flashed his wang and like a rope my arms did flang 'round the Rose of Alabamy-
Oh sweet Rosie, Rose of Alabamy, my sweet tobacco Posie is my Rose of Alabamy-

So fare thee well Lil' Liza Jane and fare thee well ye Belles of Fame for all yer charms are put t' shame by th' Rose of Alabamy
Oh sweet Rosie, Rose of Alabamy, my sweet tobacco Posie is my Rose of Alabamy"

There was a general appreciation of each other's skills, with special admiration of Cornelius' gift- Finally, Hough asked- "You seem a regular enough feller- why did you fight for secession?"
Cornelius shrugged- "'Twas more I was fightin' for my home... I don't reckon most fellers out in battle really know what they are fightin' for, 'cept they go get drafted and now this feller with stripes on his arm tells them t' kill- I just didn't want Washington DC tellin' me how to live an' what t' do,"
"You owned slaves?" Watts asked.
Cornelius looked down, "...I ... did... I gave 'em all walking papers when I signed up. 'Twern't but six of 'em- they tended my horses, see? I give 'em all letters sayin' what they could do an' such, so's they could get work- put 'em on a train t' Toledo- don't know where they went from there,"
"Why did you turn them loose?" asked Billens.
Corneliius looked up- "My property was right close to Union territory- I wasn't sure how well-treated they'd be in Union hands... I also had some neighbors that rather... fancied... th' two girls... and one of 'em 'jumped th' broom' with a right handsome Buck of mine... I wasn't going to allow that t' be harmed... They's 'man & wife' an' no man, white or black, has any business messin' with that,"
There was a silence after that... then Hough piped up with "Tenting on the old camp ground" and the six men crooned it for all it was worth.

[lake_wrangler]

I am having FUN reading that! (just caught up on a page and a half...)
'Tis a well crafted, intricate story.

[jwhouk]

Thanks! We were a bit worried no one was reading, because this is such a tangential WS story. But it has a lot of little things that make it WS - like that book that Jin's carrying around, for instance.

---

Alexander called on them shortly thereafter – his code word, apparently, was "Clydesdale", a joke that only Billens (and perhaps Cornelius) got – informing them of a slight change of plans.

"We've receive word from a dispatch in Portsmouth that there has been a quarantine placed on the docks there," he explained. "We will be able to pull in to port to dock, but passengers will not be allowed to disembark, nor board. Anyone leavin' won't be permitted back on."

He handed the dispatch to Billens – and made a circular motion with his finger. He then shook his head at all of them. "Sorry to disrupt your journey like this; we're goin' cabin to cabin to explain this to the passengers."

Billens had a wry smile on his face as he read the dispatch – which he handed to Austin, placing a finger over his lips as he did so. Austin was puzzled, but read the dispatch. He smiled as he got halfway through the letter. He handed it to Hatch, who was right next to him.

"When we pull up to the docks in Huntington, they will be able to provide us with coal for our journey up river, but it's likely we'll have to restock again at Point Pleasant."

Hatch had broken into a huge smile as Alexander said this. By this time, Cornelius was intrigued at the contents of this dispatch, but knew he wouldn't be able to read it.

Hough was handed the dispatch next. Cornelius tried to be surreptitious about gaining a peek at what was written – but couldn't really make it out.

"We'll see about gettin' some extra supplies for ye, if'n you need it."

"Thank you for the information, Ebby," Billens said with a grin. "I'm sure the only supplies we may need are more of those wonderful biscuits your cook made up for us."

Watts now was totally confused – and raring to see that dispatch. Hough folded it up and passed it behind Cornelius' head to him. He opened it:

PLAY ALONG, IN CASE THE SPY IS LISTENING IN. WE ARE USING THE HUNTINGTON QUARANTINE AS A COVER TO ALLOW US TO SEARCH THE BOAT FOR THE SPY. NO ONE WILL BE ALLOWED TO LEAVE OR GET ON THE BOAT AT THE DOCK. 12TH INDIANA HAS BEEN NOTIFIED THEY ARE TO INTERROGATE AND OR DEAL HARSHLY WITH ANYONE LEAVING THE BOAT WITHOUT MY APPROVAL. THEIR COMPANY COMMANDER HAS APPROVED THIS PLAN OF ACTION.

Oscar couldn't help but smile. He handed the note back to Billens, then smiled smugly at Cornelius.

"Now then – we need to make ready for port in an hour." Alexander looked out the window at the setting sun. "And once again my men are going to get us into port before sundown." He seemed quite pleased with that.

[lake_wrangler]

Thanks! We were a bit worried no one was reading, because this is such a tangential WS story. But it has a lot of little things that make it WS - like that book that Jin's carrying around, for instance.

Well, now, that's uncalled for! You should know I was reading, seeing as I have commented more than once, on this thread (starting on the first page, for that matter), and even corrected some French text, along the way... I also asked for clarification on how to pronounce Dashois' name. And Miss Julie is also reading, seeing as she commented on my French correction (do I owe the pun jar anything, for that one?). She, also, started commenting on the first page.

Looking quickly, I also see comments by Hansontoons and DinkyInky... Surely, you cannot possibly think NO ONE is reading this, can you? Or is that merely a symptom of "Artsist's Disease," whereby any creative type tends to underestimate the quality of his own work? (And crave feedback, to try to assuage said symptoms...)

Over on the CRFH!!! forums, we had a club called the Convince Other Boardies They're Cute Club (CBTCC), whose sole aim was to remind other boardies, for whom we had seen pictures, or who had been seen in person by some, that they were cute, and not unpretty or unhandsome. Our MO was to randomly post about said boardie's cuteness, and our first target (and the reason the club was formed to begin with) was one called Serene Chaos.

Our posts would look like this:
[CBTCC]
Serene Chaos is cute.
[/CBTCC]


I now propose the creation of the Extended Wapsiverse Fanartist Appreciation Club (EWFAC - name subject to change, upon review by other interested parties), and hereby post its first message:

[EWFAC]
Jwhouk and Sgt. Howard are good writers, and their stories are worth reading!
[/EWFAC]


There. My work here is done.

[Sgt. Howard]

When one entertains, either by stage, screen or written work, there is the craving for feedback. I know that it sounds rather petty, especially when in the written form traditionally one does not hear about one's work for weeks or months after publishing... but that does not alter the fact that I am an applause junkie. I suspect Joe is no different.

[lake_wrangler]

I understand that. Truly, I do. I have done some fanart images over at the CRFH!!! forum (forum which, sadly, seems to be out of commission, at this time), and always enjoyed having feedback. But that's still a far stretch from wanting feedback, to thinking "no one" is reading this... Granted, probably not many people are, as the number of views vs the number of posts seems to indicate that the aforementioned people are probably the only ones to read it, but please don't let that stop you. Others may eventually follow (I hope.)
(I also hope I didn't just discourage you from finishing, by doing the math on the readership...)

[jwhouk]

I understand that. Truly, I do. I have done some fanart images over at the CRFH!!! forum (forum which, sadly, seems to be out of commission, at this time), and always enjoyed having feedback. But that's still a far stretch from wanting feedback, to thinking "no one" is reading this... Granted, probably not many people are, as the number of views vs the number of posts seems to indicate that the aforementioned people are probably the only ones to read it, but please don't let that stop you. Others may eventually follow (I hope.)
(I also hope I didn't just discourage you from finishing, by doing the math on the readership...)

Nah. This story just screamed at me to get out of my brain, and Sarge has been an invaluable resource for the telling.

[Sgt. Howard]

Tanner was quite disappointed- he had been pulled. The plan was now to utterly destroy the boat while having irregulars on both banks to kill any survivors. He was to disembark at Huntington, make his contact and go back to Petersburg... they would 'torpedo' the coal. He changed to a blond wig and left his face naked- less risk now, and false whiskers were never comfortable. He started packing down his kit...

... having packed down his kit, he stood on the lower promenade just outside of the porthole where the prisoner was kept. The cigar he was smoking told him the wind blew from the porthole to him, thus increasing the carry of sound while he looked harmlessly lounging...

Nurse McBride and Ebbie Alexander went directly to the door of the same compartment- Ebbie knocked-
"Who's there?" challenged Watts.
"Clydesdale and a friend," Rumbled the giant. The door opened and Ebbie stood to while Suzie entered- then he followed.
"Come to check on your patient?" Billens asked, "'cause he's next door,"
"No- I've identified your spy- he changes appearance often, but I can spot him every time," Suzie stated.
Just outside the porthole, 'Tanner' went stiff.
"How... no, wait, we never know who's listening- but you CAN spot him?"
"Absolutely- but there's another problem- they intend to 'torpedo' the coal we're picking up in Huntington... but I don't know what that means..."
"They intend to drop some bombs in it, usually three," Cornelius calmly stated, "Mr. Alexander, do you have a strong magnet in your shop?"
"What would we need that for?" he rumbled.
"The bombs will be cast iron, shaped to look like coal- they will of course be filled with gunpowder. The heat of the firebox will set them off... I doubt they've had enough time to bury the bombs, they are likely on the top of the pile somewhere, probably towards the back so that you have a goodly amount of steam when the thing rips open the boiler. Your people will consider it another boiler mishap... you might have noticed they are becoming more common?"
The room went silent when Cornelius stopped speaking. Just outside the porthole, 'Tanner' thought he would loose control over bodily functions.
"Towards the back...?" Ebbie pondered.
"When you load coal from a bunker, your shovelers start at the front of the pile and work back, filling your own bunker in reverse. The bombs will wind up in the bottom front- by the time your stokers deliver them, you'll be at full steam but not very far from harbor. It takes little effort to undo a boiler when it's at pressure- your stokers, of course, die instantly. They will be lucky. Many others will scald, or lose pieces of body. the boat itself will be rent from side to side and sink rapidly, drowning any number of civilians... and of course, I'm chained to this post..."
Hatch loudly wretched into the corner. Ebbie was noticeably pale. Billens stood frozen. Hough looked green, as did Austin.
"... y'see," Cornelius continue, " I'm thinkin' I really want t' live,"

[Sgt. Howard]

'Tanner' now was in panic- how he was identified was unknown, the plot to destroy the boat was foiled, the prisoner was now fully in bed with his captors... he needed to hide where he could think.
There are more crevices in the engine room than anyplace else on the boat- he made his way to the below decks. The twin boilers had an upper gallery each, designed for the normal human, not the hulking walking hillsides that populated the boiler and engine rooms. Getting to them, he noticed a large open bin... full of oats. How odd. He also noticed that between the two upright boilers was a very large circle, rather like a smallish round house turntable, built into the deck. Again, odd... but voices sent him scurrying up the gantry to the gallery, where he silently blended into the shadows... and watched.
Sneaking around the six stokers was not much of a challenge- they were dead concentrating on their task and nothing else- Eight more of these strapping fellows showed up- there was a minor altercation where one of them dipped his hand into the oats and wolfed them down, only to be confronted by another over the act. He was carelessly chewing while his fellow stoker berated him- then he struck. The other struck back. They were soon surrounded as they pummeled each other, providing entertainment for the lot. Then the biggest, ugliest 'Grease Snipe' that 'Tanner' ever saw in his life knocked them both to the floor and bellowed at then to "behave yourselves!"
This fellow went to the command pipes and hollered into it " We're here, Skipper,"
"What's the pressure look like?" came a voice over the pipe- the big fellow squinted an eye at it and said, "She's under the red yet... but I don't like the looks of it,"
"Then hang your hat on it," came the reply, " Go ahead and engage the screws- We're almost on 'Sawyer's Pinch,' we won't make it any other way- I WANT FULL GALLOP!"
"AYE AYE SIR!" but he muttered as he turned to the crew, " 'Tain't no harm in wantin'... OY! McCreary! Douglass! Lower the screws... McLeod, Ferguson, Travers, McGillicutty, Dodson, McBrea- douse yer duds and take t' th' wheel!"
Each fellow so ordered stripped to the buff and hung their togs- then, to 'Tanner's' utter astonishment, each one pushed a horse body out of their rear ends, grew considerably in size, grabbed a stanchion with lever from a rack, dropped it into a hole at one of six positions around the circle and stood, facing widdershins (counter clockwise) awaiting the next order.
"Are the gears engaged?" bellowed the Big man.
"Aye Bull- we're full up and the screws are out"
"Right- GIDDYAPP!!! FULL GALLOP!"
Each of the six grasped at the lever anchored to the deck and started the circle moving- in short order, they were moving past a trot and into a gallop.

They were centaurs. The Confederacy is doomed. The Union has centaurs... and he doubted he would ever report it...

[Sgt. Howard]

They went at it for a good half hour before Bull got the word that they were past the pinch- at that time, all six stepped off the turntable, pulled their stanchions, retuned them to the rack that held them and two at a time stepped under a shower that drained into a sump- 'Tanner' could hear the pump pulling the water. Each pair lathered and groomed each other- once finished, the fresh creatures would again become human and put back on their togs.
It wasn't hard to understand why- they SMELLED like horses! Once clothed, each one went to the oats bin and scooped out a generous portion in a large galvanized bowl and sat down to eat.
Shortly after that, he felt the first bump of Huntington Pier... he would not be allowed to leave... and the 'torpedoes' were likely to be detected.
If only he had not taken that wound in Nashville, that lone bullet wound in his... pride... that wouldn't allow him to comfortably sit for a minor eternity. They had had enough- as Corporal, he ordered the retreat. The bullet nailed his right buttocks dead center... fortunately the distance of the shot precluded any serious injury, but that didn't allay either the pain or embarrassment.
The offer he got at Chimborazo seemed too good to be true- paid in gold, freedom of actions, lots of hidden killing, cloak and dagger stuff... he jumped on it.
Now he wondered how well he thought this out...

"RIGHTO!!! SECURE THE HAWSER THERE BOYO!!! PULL HER SNUG!!! He'll make a fine longshoreman... in about five or ten years... Right... Alright your Captancy, proceed to rattle yer troops here an' secure th' line," turning to a senior commission, he added- "at yer discretion, yer Colonolship- me boys are ready t' coal her up,"
"Very well, Mr. Sullivan- you may proceed, " Colonel William Link of the 12th Indiana stated. Immediately, several burly-looking Irishmen with 21 pound shovels lined up on the coal bunker and proceeded to fill a coal dolly with the standard one ton load- so that the longshoremen could haul the cart to the edge of the pier where the boat's deck crane would hoist it to the foredeck- at that point, the boat's own 'grease snipes' would haul it to the bunkers in the boat... unfortunately, this grand process was momentarily interrupted as Ebbie trotted out to the Colonel.
"SIR!!! We have reason to believe this coal to be sabotaged,"
The Colonel looked confused- "How do you sabotage coal?
"There are bombs in it, sir," another member of the below decks crew sprinted towards the shovel crew and stopped their action. He held a large, thick, round piece of metal, which he passed over the coal... with no results.
"BOMBS?!? In COAL?!? I would think they would stand out, wouldn't you?"
The same fellow sprinted to the back of the bunker- he was there but a few moments before he came running back to Ebbie and the Colonel with a lump of black in his hand.
"Not necessarily, Sir- HERE, Douglas found one already,"
Douglas handed the irregular, black object to Colonel Link. Link looked at it, frowning- "How do you know this to be a bomb?"
Douglas wordlessly held the disc over the object- it jumped out of the Colonel's hand and hit the disc with a 'Clunk!'
"Coal ain't magnetic, sir,"

[lake_wrangler]

Gives a whole new meaning to the term "horsepower"...
I have to admit, I had not expected that. Nice twist. It really is Alexander's boat...

[jwhouk]

And now, for something completely different:

---

"I can NOT believe it!" Alexis was shaking her head at the assignment their history teacher had just given them. "A five-page report – with non-Internet sourced material – about the American Civil War?"

"Well, at least he gave us five specific topics," Devyn pointed out. She surveyed her own copy as they walked down the hall to their lockers. "A specific battle; significant technology; daily life during the conflict; military leaders; biographical stories…"

"But how are we supposed to do that without using a 'normal' search engine?" Alexis huffed a bit as she grabbed her coat from her locker. "You know how much stuff there is out there just on Abraham Lincoln?"

"Well, most of it isn't true, of course," Devyn smirked. "Like the part about him being a vampire hunter."

"I don't know why I let you drag me to that movie, anyways." Lexie slid on her coat and closed her locker.

"It was because you wouldn't go and see the one with Daniel Day Lewis with me." Devyn sauntered over to her own locker, a few doors down. She took a surreptitious look out the corner of her eye for those two bratty upper classmen girls, then opened her locker to get her own coat. "And who says you have to do it on Lincoln, anyways?"

"Well then," Lexie stood next to her as she closed the locker, "What would you suggest?"

Devyn thought for a moment, but could only shake her head.

"Hey guys!" Atsali came bounding over, with Berdine and Nadette in tow. "We're heading over to Mucho Mocha for some after-school coffee and scones; wanna join us?"

"Oh, hey, Atsali," Devyn said a bit nonchalantly. Lexie froze up as the three approached, however. "Uh, we were going to head to the Library to get a head start on this assignment our history teacher gave us."

"Oh? Anything interesting?" Berdine asked.

Lexie could only make a gurgling sound.

"Uh, nah, just some stuff about the American Civil War," Devyn explained. She elbowed Lexie, who winced a bit.

"Hey, that'd be right up Atsali's alley!" Nadette mentioned. "After all, she's got an uncle who fought in the Civil War!"

"I do?" Atsali looked puzzled.

"Remember? Neil mentioned it at your mom's wedding," Berdine interjected.

"Yeah – did you think he named his daughter 'Dixie' just to irritate Phix?" Nadette smiled.

"He fought in the Civil War?" Lexie was a bit incredulous.

"Okay, this I gotta hear about, just for the curiosity factor," Devyn said. "I knew he was a Roman Centurion and all, but a Civil War soldier?"

"Well, I dunno if he wants to talk about it." Atsali was hesitant. "There's a lot of things about his service time that he really doesn't like talking about."

"It couldn't hurt to ask, though," Devyn pointed out. "We're just doing an assignment – and the worst he could say is no."

"The worst he could do is sic Phix on us!" Alexis was petrified.

"I don't think he'd do that – not unless we kept badgering him about it."

---

We pause here for a minor groan... Now: the girls will be back a bit later in our show.

[lake_wrangler]

Non internet-based sources??? Oh NOES!!!
I can't help but wonder if teachers would actually do that, and how hard it would be on the students, now...

Cute intermission of sorts, by the way.

[AmriloJim]

Non internet-based sources??? Oh NOES!!!
I can't help but wonder if teachers would actually do that, and how hard it would be on the students, now...

I can see Gryphon educators doing that, using the library as a training tool for the Library.

[jwhouk]

Given what we saw in Wednesday's strip,I think it might be "Use the Library and read."

[lake_wrangler]

No internet? Oh, the paranormality!

[lake_wrangler]

... stuff ...

See, Joe? Here's proof of another reader, for you!

[jwhouk]

LW:

---

Tanner stood stock still among the boilers, even as he heard the coal being loaded onto the ship.

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, he thought.

Suddenly, the loading stopped. There was some commotion. He heard some movement, then a CLANG!

They found the bombs, he thought. He was only partially relieved, though – because the next move would be for them to…

A soldier and one of the crew members came down into the boiler room of the ship.

"Search the boilers," the soldier said. "Make sure that spy ain't gonna try to rig up any bombs on his own." He could see the crew member – one of the centaurs he saw earlier – saluted and started a methodical search of the boiler room.

He had to get out of there – and fast.

There was one means of egress – a ladder, on the forward port side. It looked to be out of the sight line of the soldier, and the crewman was starting his search on the starboard side of the room. He couldn't quite tell, however, where it led.

He decided to chance it. He quickly dashed over, using what cover he could find behind the boilers and pipes, and started climbing.

The top of the ladder went into a small, cramped, tube-line structure – not unlike a sewer access tunnel like he'd seen in Atlanta. The top had a hatch with a simple handle.

He turned it, and pushed it open. Peeking out, he realized he was on the wheelhouse deck, just forward of the stacks. This must have been the access ladder for those behemoths he'd seen earlier.

He looked around – the wheelhouse was lousy with crew and the soldiers. The only other manner of exit was a stairwell that was just ahead – but the crew and soldiers would be able to see him if he went down that way.

He peeked over the side. The balconies to the decks below were slightly off-center from each other. He might be able to swing down to the deck below, then maybe hide in one of the staterooms or such.

Slowly pulling himself out of the hatch and into the slow darkening of dusk, he crawled to the edge of the balcony. There were gaps between the rails, wide enough that he could swing himself over the side. Up top, the rails on this gangway weren't narrowed to keep passengers from slipping through, as it was obviously only for service use or emergency access.

Well, this was an emergency – at least on his part. He slid between the bars, and took a peek down at the other deck. No one down either side. He quickly did a 180-degree turn and crawled down, feet first. He used the leverage of his legs to push up and out, then brought himself back onto the balcony…

Unfortunately, he didn't see the protruding knob on the lower handrail until it was too late. He swung his legs to try to avoid it, but his pride – and his "war injury" – caught the brunt of it.

He didn't realize at first that he had let out a scream that would have made a Rebel Yell sound like a whisper – until at least five people came out of their staterooms to see what the commotion was.

"Y'all all right, son?" A gentleman in a bolo tie and a while suit asked, as a few others gathered round him. He tried to get up, but he'd re-injured the wound he'd suffered only a few months earlier.

"Get the ship's nurse," he heard one of the others say to someone.

He tried to shout out NO! but found it came out as a loud screech of agony. He tried to right himself, but instead of rising gracefully he pitched himself against the inner handrail of the balcony gangway – and smacked his head against the rail.

He was out instantly.