Southern Fried Dragon by Nancy Lee Badger Page A

finish his sentence. The last soldier waited by the pallet for him. Others, weighed down with sacks, were silently retreating toward the town docks.
    Retreating.
    The war between his fellow countrymen had yet to start, and already his side had begun their retreat behind the walls of Fort Moultrie.
    Indefensible Fort Moultrie.
    He could feel Dru’s eyes boring into his back as he hefted the offered bag of potatoes, grunted to the other soldier, and headed toward the boats. Remorse flooded him, constricting his throat and sending a sharp pain across his chest. Had he fallen in love with her? Would his short life come to an end before he had the opportunity to feel this way again?
    When the boats sent by the major landed at Charleston’s wharf, his men tossed their wares aboard. He’d sent one man to the other nearby taverns to spread the word. More men arrived loaded with crates of winter vegetables and bags of apples. A stiff breeze whipped across the bay, a subtle reminder of December’s possible inclement weather. Shaw forced himself not to turn to see if she watched him leave.
    * * * * *
    Christmas day passed in quiet, a solemn day made more so as the troops at Fort Moultrie packed up supplies and armaments. Major Anderson spread the word that they would abandon the fort, and move everything to the partially completed Fort Sumter.
    Shaw worried for their safety. The newer fort, still under construction, held little in the way of supplies. Food rations consisted of whatever they would take with them. He feared many meals of potato soup filled his future.
    He missed Dru, and prayed she enjoyed the peace of the holiest of days. Had she received his tiny gift? His silly gesture? He’d gathered seashells and placed them inside a canning jar. Finding a piece of pale blue ribbon that matched her eyes had been difficult, but he could not let her think he’d forgotten her.
    How could I?
    No woman had ever made him feel this way. Happy and in pain at the same time. Maybe the impractical gift would brighten her day. The corners of Shaw’s mouth pulled uncontrollably into a grin. Major Anderson marched to his side.
    “Plans go well I assume, from the smirk on your face.”
    Shaw inhaled sharply and turned to face his commanding officer. “Yes, sir. We have nearly finished filling the boats. The men have orders to be up before dawn.”
    “Make sure we spike the cannons before we leave.”
    “Sir?”
    “We cannot leave weapons for the enemy. They would use them against us.”
    “Understood.” Shaw sighed. War loomed. Back in Charleston, townspeople  he drank with would just as soon shoot him in the head, now.
    “Set fire to the wooden gun carriages once most of the boats have departed. No sense signaling, and bringing attention to our transfer to Fort Sumter.”
    * * * * *
    After a sleepless Christmas night, a cold, dreary morning found Shaw dressed and out among the men. Men whose faces wore frowns of despair. They had disabled the cannons. Torches stood ready to lay waste to the remainder of the camp. Shaw saluted his superior when the major silently joined him at the dock.
    “Lieutenant, are all the men aboard ship?”
    “Aye, sir, except for a dozen standing ready to torch the carriages.”
    “Send a couple of those men to chop down the flagpole.”
    “Sir?”
    “If a secession government plans to occupy this fort, they damn well will not hoist their secessionist excrement on my flagpole.”
    * * * * *
    Dru caressed the glass jar that she had received yesterday. An old fisherman had arrived at the kitchen door with a parcel from Shaw. Even with the unexpected jar of pretty seashells, the dreary day passed slowly. Today, news of the secession, as well as talk about the abandonment of Fort Moultrie, passed between the patrons.
    Dru wanted to take flight and find Shaw. Was he alright? Where could he and his fellow soldiers have gone? Would she ever see him again?
    She missed his kisses, but wanted him to stay safe.