I don't think that Tom is going to be fine again... he has had too much luck with him until now...
It seems that North will be winning the war with attrition...
It seems that North will be winning the war with attrition...
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
i dont know much about the american civil war beyond about two major battles and knowing who won, so is the war going historically so far in this story or not?
I thought that Confederates were historically not capable to stop the Northern campaign in Louisiana, thus losing rapidly Mississippi and being divided into west and east. But in this aar they seemed to be able to push the yanks back to New Orleans.
heh, with all the cowboy style shootouts and brotherly love i'd kinda forgotten about the war. i guess theres still a long way to go for this story
Thanks, and yes. Well, I originally had intended to make this a 10 chapter AAR, with the longer end being the later half. The war is still a major factor, and as we follow only certain characters, I try to have the other role-playing characters, ie: Jeb or Mr. Smith talk about the war on a larger level, while the war itself is shown through Bill (RIP) and Tom.
Tom, Tom, Tom; luckiest human alive, as for the war that is my worst nightmare. The Union have so many more factories, railroads, and of course men to replenish their armies with. Just like in RL, a war of attrition will only lead to a Union victory.
The war is going very a-historical, as I present it in a way in which the game is playing it out. Battles such as Clinch or Oneida, never happened in RL, and the historical Battle of Baton Rogue (1862) was on a much smaller scale. The war up until now is historical in terms of Union gains and victories. 1861-1863 were poor years for the Union especially in the Northern Virginia campaign, but they had good success in the West throughout the war. In the game I've only lost a few battles, and I believe one is mentioned early on in the story dealing with Missouri. Unless things change, don't take this knowledge into a history class and talk about the Civil War (except for the generals, whose personalities I'm trying to keep historically accurate).
-N.P. Banks: very poor commander and former governor of MASS. Important early leader and last led the Red River Expedition in 1864 which wasn't that successful.
-Bragg: Outdated in tactics (ie: Butcher's Nest is historical resemblence to Hornet's Nest in the Battle of Shiloh where he just frontal charged the Union positions, and very controversial).
-Johnston: Loved and respected but died in Shiloh. He was thought to be the only General that could save the Western Front.
Historically yes, but there will be more to come on the Southern Front. By 1862, most of the Mississippi was under Union control which was a major blow for the Confederacy as the river served as a virtually water "Railroad" for the Confederates. Up to now, I must say I got really lucky in the game as the Union forces have up to this point been very disorganized, but I guess that's very historical for 1861 as well.
Hopefully I cleared any questions and perhaps uncertainty. And Thanks to the both of you, as you have been some of the most loyal readAARs for this AAR. It's still good right?
Tom got his vengeance! By the way, which side you are playing in the game? I guess it's union?
Such tragedy! The war is going to be long and drawn out I think, certainly not good for you. Can't wait for more...
Keep up the great work!
Keep up the great work!
Chapter Six
Mr. Smith walked out of his house, it was finally November. He stepped out into the mud-slick ground, sinking in slightly. He peered back; he completely placed his overcoat on and went to his stables to retrieve a few horses and his wagon to head into town. Mr. Smith unlocked the gates when his nephew came over.
“Uncle Will, are you sure it is safe for you to go out there?”
“Are you sure you’d be wanting to spend the winter here?” he jokingly answered back.
“What,” he said, “do you not like my company?” he smiled in response.
Mr. Smith smiled, “I reckon your nothing like your Aunt Sue says you are,” he finished and mounted the wagon to the horses, stepping up and readying himself to head off into town.
“What if you don’t come back, what if something bad happens?”
“Believe me Nate, if anything bad is going to happen, it’ll be comin’ from me,” Mr. Smith finished as he whipped the horses off, they slowly started to trot off towards the main road which was now mud-ridden and hard on wheels.
As the clouds rolled over, Mr. Smith halted near the old saloon, now under new management. It had been some time since he’d last been into the heart of Wilson’s Creek; you couldn’t go anywhere in the town without seeing some men with guns on horses, men smoking cigars with their holsters proudly displayed, or without seeing Marshal Thomas and his gang of scared chickens walking the streets overlooking their shoulders to make sure that Evan Harris or Peter Savage wasn’t gunnin’ for them.
Mr. Smith walked into the saloon, as he did Marshal Thomas asked him to stop before continuing. “Stop there Bill, I got to make sure you’re allowed inside,” he said.
“Marshal Thomas, how much money did it take to make you into a bandit like them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Bill. I’m just doing my job,” Marshal Thomas answered as the wind started to pick up.
“Hey, it’s okay James, he’s with me!” shouted Evan Harris from across the saloon. Evan stood up and waved William Smith over to his corner where Tank and Peter Savage were also sitting, Evan’s little poodles if you could call them that.
Mr. Smith made his way over to Evan, asking if he could sit before sitting. When Evan laughed and said yes, Mr. Smith took his seat and Evan told Peter and Tank to leave the area until he called them back over.
“So what do you want with me Evan?”
“What I want with you Will? I don’t exactly know what you’re talking about. Oh, yeah! I remember it now; I got nothing for ya. I reckon I would like you dead though.”
“Cut to the chase Evan!” Mr. Smith said without fear of Evan Harris.
“Just who the hell do you think you are, God in the flesh?” asked Evan Harris with a nasty snarl. “Look around you, look at all the people. They can’t even walk pass me without saying hello or giving me something. That’s called fear. That’s called respect!”
“You have no idea of what fear or respect is Evan,” answered Mr. Smith sternly. His eyes were lit with some fury. “I reckon you tried to kill Jeb one time or another Evan. Mister Burke told me that, don’t lie! I want the truth!” he shouted, his voice filling the saloon. Everyone quickly looked over to see Mr. Smith standing up and Evan sitting reaching for his glass of whiskey.
“Why don’t you take a seat my good friend, don’t want to cause a problem with all the good people around here now do we?”
“Answer me Evan! Just say ‘yes’ and we can move on,” Mr. Smith sharply responded.
Evan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I, I…I don’t work like that. I’ve never killed anyone in this town.”
“Stop the bull Evan, I know you killed the mayor, I know you killed several other men in this town, the Liberachy boy too. Evan, I spit on people like you.”
Evan looked up as Mr. Smith left a wad of spit inches away from his glass. “I hope you didn’t mean that. If I wanted I would have you dead, I let you live, I let you awake every morning,” he said to Mr. Smith. “I could gladly send someone over to your house and kill you and all your family in the middle of night. That’s something God or money can’t buy; power!”
“I remember you once told me,” began Mr. Smith, “that you think you have the fastest gun east of the Mississippi. Would you stand by those words?”
“I would gun you down old man before you could even blink,” Evan answered. “I believe some men live on the wrong continent. I believe I live in the wrong state.”
Evan sat back down; he picked up his glass of whiskey, downing it very quickly in front of Mr. Smith. He offered a drink to which Mr. Smith refused. Mr. Smith got up, knocking the chair backwards, “I know a few things about you Evan, you ain’t never been in western duel, and you ain’t ever been west of the Mississippi.” With that, Mr. Smith walked out of the saloon, his eyes peering back at Evan who sat back at the table in the corner of the saloon lighting his pipe as Tank and Peter walked back over to flank him.
Marshal Thomas walked Mr. Smith out of the saloon; he whispered something in his ears. Mr. Smith took a good look at the old Marshal and smiled. He said something back to him, something that the Marshal didn’t take too fondly of. Marshal Thomas nodded his head and watched Mr. Smith mount back on his wagon, he signaled for one of his deputies to come over.
“I want you to be calm when you do it, but I want you to follow that man. Don’t make it look to obvious though, understand?”
The deputy was quick to answer, “Yeah, I got it,” he finished, eager to prove himself worthy to the Marshal and to Evan Harris. He slowly walked over, his head down and placing his hat down to block his eyes and Mr. Smith went around the edge of the town rather than directly back home.
Mr. Smith walked out of his house, it was finally November. He stepped out into the mud-slick ground, sinking in slightly. He peered back; he completely placed his overcoat on and went to his stables to retrieve a few horses and his wagon to head into town. Mr. Smith unlocked the gates when his nephew came over.
“Uncle Will, are you sure it is safe for you to go out there?”
“Are you sure you’d be wanting to spend the winter here?” he jokingly answered back.
“What,” he said, “do you not like my company?” he smiled in response.
Mr. Smith smiled, “I reckon your nothing like your Aunt Sue says you are,” he finished and mounted the wagon to the horses, stepping up and readying himself to head off into town.
“What if you don’t come back, what if something bad happens?”
“Believe me Nate, if anything bad is going to happen, it’ll be comin’ from me,” Mr. Smith finished as he whipped the horses off, they slowly started to trot off towards the main road which was now mud-ridden and hard on wheels.
As the clouds rolled over, Mr. Smith halted near the old saloon, now under new management. It had been some time since he’d last been into the heart of Wilson’s Creek; you couldn’t go anywhere in the town without seeing some men with guns on horses, men smoking cigars with their holsters proudly displayed, or without seeing Marshal Thomas and his gang of scared chickens walking the streets overlooking their shoulders to make sure that Evan Harris or Peter Savage wasn’t gunnin’ for them.
Mr. Smith walked into the saloon, as he did Marshal Thomas asked him to stop before continuing. “Stop there Bill, I got to make sure you’re allowed inside,” he said.
“Marshal Thomas, how much money did it take to make you into a bandit like them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Bill. I’m just doing my job,” Marshal Thomas answered as the wind started to pick up.
“Hey, it’s okay James, he’s with me!” shouted Evan Harris from across the saloon. Evan stood up and waved William Smith over to his corner where Tank and Peter Savage were also sitting, Evan’s little poodles if you could call them that.
Mr. Smith made his way over to Evan, asking if he could sit before sitting. When Evan laughed and said yes, Mr. Smith took his seat and Evan told Peter and Tank to leave the area until he called them back over.
“So what do you want with me Evan?”
“What I want with you Will? I don’t exactly know what you’re talking about. Oh, yeah! I remember it now; I got nothing for ya. I reckon I would like you dead though.”
“Cut to the chase Evan!” Mr. Smith said without fear of Evan Harris.
“Just who the hell do you think you are, God in the flesh?” asked Evan Harris with a nasty snarl. “Look around you, look at all the people. They can’t even walk pass me without saying hello or giving me something. That’s called fear. That’s called respect!”
“You have no idea of what fear or respect is Evan,” answered Mr. Smith sternly. His eyes were lit with some fury. “I reckon you tried to kill Jeb one time or another Evan. Mister Burke told me that, don’t lie! I want the truth!” he shouted, his voice filling the saloon. Everyone quickly looked over to see Mr. Smith standing up and Evan sitting reaching for his glass of whiskey.
“Why don’t you take a seat my good friend, don’t want to cause a problem with all the good people around here now do we?”
“Answer me Evan! Just say ‘yes’ and we can move on,” Mr. Smith sharply responded.
Evan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I, I…I don’t work like that. I’ve never killed anyone in this town.”
“Stop the bull Evan, I know you killed the mayor, I know you killed several other men in this town, the Liberachy boy too. Evan, I spit on people like you.”
Evan looked up as Mr. Smith left a wad of spit inches away from his glass. “I hope you didn’t mean that. If I wanted I would have you dead, I let you live, I let you awake every morning,” he said to Mr. Smith. “I could gladly send someone over to your house and kill you and all your family in the middle of night. That’s something God or money can’t buy; power!”
“I remember you once told me,” began Mr. Smith, “that you think you have the fastest gun east of the Mississippi. Would you stand by those words?”
“I would gun you down old man before you could even blink,” Evan answered. “I believe some men live on the wrong continent. I believe I live in the wrong state.”
Evan sat back down; he picked up his glass of whiskey, downing it very quickly in front of Mr. Smith. He offered a drink to which Mr. Smith refused. Mr. Smith got up, knocking the chair backwards, “I know a few things about you Evan, you ain’t never been in western duel, and you ain’t ever been west of the Mississippi.” With that, Mr. Smith walked out of the saloon, his eyes peering back at Evan who sat back at the table in the corner of the saloon lighting his pipe as Tank and Peter walked back over to flank him.
Marshal Thomas walked Mr. Smith out of the saloon; he whispered something in his ears. Mr. Smith took a good look at the old Marshal and smiled. He said something back to him, something that the Marshal didn’t take too fondly of. Marshal Thomas nodded his head and watched Mr. Smith mount back on his wagon, he signaled for one of his deputies to come over.
“I want you to be calm when you do it, but I want you to follow that man. Don’t make it look to obvious though, understand?”
The deputy was quick to answer, “Yeah, I got it,” he finished, eager to prove himself worthy to the Marshal and to Evan Harris. He slowly walked over, his head down and placing his hat down to block his eyes and Mr. Smith went around the edge of the town rather than directly back home.
Where to begin? I must say this is one of the best Vicky Narrative AAR's ive read since Coz's Into the West. Your battle descriptions of the ebb and flow of a battle are brilliant and really convey a sense of what it is like to be there. I miss that style of writing and seeing it done so well here just makes me feel so giddy inside
Not only that, the story is carried by your characters. Cour characterizations of Bill and Tom, not to mention several villainous characters (A good villain = good story as you yourself put it) just weaves the whole thing together.
I really enjoyed this one, and I can see why this was nominated for the awards, i spent my whole evening on this, and I can't wait for the next update. Thanks, volksmarschall for inspiring me again
Not only that, the story is carried by your characters. Cour characterizations of Bill and Tom, not to mention several villainous characters (A good villain = good story
as you yourself put it) just weaves the whole thing together.I really enjoyed this one, and I can see why this was nominated for the awards, i spent my whole evening on this, and I can't wait for the next update. Thanks, volksmarschall for inspiring me again
I completely and totally agree with TreizeV, as you maybe have noticed that earlier. This AAR is truly fantastic and it should won the best vicky AAR reward!
I noticed that you have changed the picture in the first post, it's brilliant! Very beautiful landscape there.
I noticed that you have changed the picture in the first post, it's brilliant! Very beautiful landscape there.
I wonder why no one has yet stopped Harris.... if everyone has guns, why not use them?
maybe nobody wants to sink to his level?
i would like to see pistols at dawn though, thats an honourable way to fight.
are we seeing a recurring theme with this 'i believe some people are born...' stuff? its quite mysterious.
Good updates. Unless I miss my guess, a showdown is in the works between Harris and Mr. Smith.
While it's good that you were able to defeat the Union in Louisiana, you're going to need to try and bring an end to the war. The longer it goes on the harder it will be. An invasion of the North perhaps?
While it's good that you were able to defeat the Union in Louisiana, you're going to need to try and bring an end to the war. The longer it goes on the harder it will be. An invasion of the North perhaps?
I agree with TreizeV, this is a fantastic AAR! Very well written, great descriptions, and all that goes with it. As Hardraade too has pointed out, the longer the war is; the lower the chances are that the South will be victorious.
Keep up the amazing work!
Keep up the amazing work!
@ TreizeV: Thank you! I'm very glad that you've enjoyed it so far, and very happy to see someone as yourself comment in this AAR. I know that perhaps, since this is a narrative, some people are turned away by looking at it and not wanting to read it. So in this part, I'm happy to know that you took the time to read this, and I hope that I can keep up my level of work now that you've given me a great morale boost!
This is also the first time someone has ever mentioned 'ebb and flow' in writing (that made me giddy inside). If I have inspired you, then I consider my job complete, as a writer I want to try in bring in some sort of inspiration or important message to the readers. Sure, this is an AAR, but I'm trying to make this more a story with a meaning in the end (just with the AAR driving the story), whenever that shall be. I'm glad you enjoyed it!
And if anything, you've motivated me to keep my work at a 'high' quality, so I must say Thanks!
@ Auray: Thanks and thanks! I wanted to change the picture in the front because I felt that this picture better represented the story/AAR than the original. I don't know about the awAARds though, but I guess that's what you very kind people are out there for. As long as I could entertain you guys with a great AAR, then I consider that my greatest award.
@ Enewald: One word, FEAR. Certainly a great question that I'm sure many people may think, but just imagine yourself as one of these people in the town. Would you have the courage to step up and challenge him and his men?
@ BritishImperial: Certainly a duel can be considered very honorable, but to some people (like Harris) it's more a joke. The Marshal doesn't do anything as he is on his payroll, the people don't do anything out of fear, but Mr. Smith is a key figure in the closing portion of this AAR.
As for your other question, "I believe..." this is more a Quigley Down Under reference that I thought would tie in good with some of these men and show a little more of their character, that saying; the theme is with the men who say it.
@ Hardraade: Yes, you are correct. I'm trying to build a foreshadow for the eventual showdown between the two, I'll just stop here before I slip a spoiler out or a thought out.
As for an invasion of the North I wish I had the manpower too, I'm trying to go a little a-historical. A push towards Cleveland and Lake Erie would cut the Union in half (like the Union historically did with the Union) will it work? Only the AI knows...
@ Erie_Patriot: Why thank you! A long war isn't good for me, this I know. But with all the problems I'm having and Union troops everywhere, only time will tell if I could invade quick enough before numbers and attrition overwhelm me.
This is also the first time someone has ever mentioned 'ebb and flow' in writing (that made me giddy inside
). If I have inspired you, then I consider my job complete, as a writer I want to try in bring in some sort of inspiration or important message to the readers. Sure, this is an AAR, but I'm trying to make this more a story with a meaning in the end (just with the AAR driving the story), whenever that shall be. I'm glad you enjoyed it! And if anything, you've motivated me to keep my work at a 'high' quality, so I must say Thanks!
@ Auray: Thanks and thanks! I wanted to change the picture in the front because I felt that this picture better represented the story/AAR than the original. I don't know about the awAARds though, but I guess that's what you very kind people are out there for. As long as I could entertain you guys with a great AAR, then I consider that my greatest award.
@ Enewald: One word, FEAR. Certainly a great question that I'm sure many people may think, but just imagine yourself as one of these people in the town. Would you have the courage to step up and challenge him and his men?
@ BritishImperial: Certainly a duel can be considered very honorable, but to some people (like Harris) it's more a joke. The Marshal doesn't do anything as he is on his payroll, the people don't do anything out of fear, but Mr. Smith is a key figure in the closing portion of this AAR.
As for your other question, "I believe..." this is more a Quigley Down Under reference that I thought would tie in good with some of these men and show a little more of their character, that saying; the theme is with the men who say it.
@ Hardraade: Yes, you are correct. I'm trying to build a foreshadow for the eventual showdown between the two, I'll just stop here before I slip a spoiler out or a thought out.
As for an invasion of the North
I wish I had the manpower too, I'm trying to go a little a-historical. A push towards Cleveland and Lake Erie would cut the Union in half (like the Union historically did with the Union) will it work? Only the AI knows... @ Erie_Patriot: Why thank you! A long war isn't good for me, this I know. But with all the problems I'm having and Union troops everywhere, only time will tell if I could invade quick enough before numbers and attrition overwhelm me.
Chapter Six
Mr. Smith rode to the edge of the town and stopped, getting off of his wagon and walking into the tall brush and woods near the town’s outskirts. The deputy following him was unsure of what to do next. He paused and pondered the options around him, standing straight on the ridge in broad daylight before moving down towards the wagon. He looked in the back to find a few store bought goods, some flour, and a few foods before placing the blanket that was covering it once again.
From the steppes of the ridge, one of Harris’ men appeared. He was staring right at the deputy, nodded his head and started down towards him as well. The bandit halted only a few feet away from the deputy, dismounting his horse and slapping it away.
“What are you doing here?” asked the deputy to the bandit.
“I’m here to kill that little man on the behalf of Evan Harris, you?”
“Marshal Thomas told me to follow him. Who is this guy anyway?” the puzzled deputy asked the rough bandit.
“No one that we need worry about in a few moments, I reckon,” responded the bandit who drew his pistol from his holster and slowly started to walk into the high grass and the tree-line where William Smith had just entered. “Well, are you following me?” he asked the deputy. The deputy was quick to nod his head and followed the bandit into the woods with his gun drawn as well.
They entered the dark and gloomy forest, bugs hovering all over the place; some landing in their eyes and on clothes. The deputy nervously made his way through the woods. He peered over at the bandit who looked straight back at him.
“Where is he?” asked the deputy.
“I don’t know, I guess we should split up. Listen, I’ll go straight ahead and you take the left flank, understood?”
“Yes, I reckon,” answered the uncertain deputy as they moved deeper into the woodland muck and wildlife.
Sweat palmed down from the face of the deputy who was moving the long blades of grass and tree-branches from his face. In a flash, the deputy saw a large brown object right in his face, speeding forward and nailing him across the mouth. The deputy fell back, bleeding and unconscious. His pistol fell into the dirt, quickly to be picked up by the mysterious person. The man looked down at the deputy and smiled.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m not trying to kill you,” said the man.
The bandit was calmly making his way deeper into the woods. From behind, the light from the town was quickly fading; he was now deep into the dense Kentucky wilderness. He began to breathe hard, the humidity was intense for this time of the year, and he panned off the gallons of sweat that had taken control of his face. He opened his mouth, his eyes becoming more dazed as he moved deeper into the woods. He called out for the deputy but no one answered. The man paused near a tall oak tree, taking his hat off and taking a seat on a tree stump nearby.
Behind him, Mr. Smith slowly approached like a predator ready to pounce. Mr. Smith was easily avoiding the twigs and leaves that riddled the ground floor that could give away his presence, his hands clutching the deputy’s pistol, his arm shaking and sweating just as much as the bandit. Mr. Smith crept his way forward, he cocked the pistol back, placing the pistol barrel directly behind the head of the bandit. The bandit froze; he dropped his pistol to the ground and put his arms in the air.
“Please God, don’t…”
“Don’t what? Like you weren’t gonna kill me if you had the chance, right?”
The bandit was trying to stay composed at this point, he started talking about the deputy in an attempt to buy some time and figure out what to do next. Mr. Smith kept the gun glued to his head.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right this moment?” Mr. Smith asked the bandit.
No response.
“Go on,” he said once more.
No response.
Mr. Smith drew back his pistol, the bandit smiled. Just as quickly he turned the pistol around and used the butt as a club and rocked the bandit in the back of the head. Hours had passed since Evan Harris had last sent out his man to try and kill Mr. Smith; he, some of his men, and the Marshal went out around 4 o’clock to find out what had happened. They entered the same woods where the deputy finally staggered out of the woods. He collapsed after reaching the fields where Harris and his party were. The Marshal rode forward.
“Are you alright? What happened? C'mon John! Speak.”
“Leave him Marshal, let’s head in,” said Evan with an evil look in his eyes. As they entered, he split them in four pairs of two; he and the Marshal were going straight ahead. After some time, they eventually stumbled into a startling sight.
Hanging from the tree was the bandit, still alive but barely. He was tied around the tree, about 25 or so feet high, his mouth stuff the barrel of his own pistol in his mouth and a rope tied around the trigger which would cause it to fire if too much tension and pressure was put on the rope. The man was barely conscious; his head was rolling back and forth from exhaustion. The Marshal began yelling out for the others to come back to them. Evan Harris was just looking at the sight, his eyes resembling the devil in everyway, shape, and form. He cracked his neck and took out his pistol.
As he did, the others arrived, Peter and Tank were shocked at the sight, and the others were unable to stomach it and turned away. Evan nodded his head, smiling; he aimed his pistol and shot the rope that was holding him up. After four shots, the man came crashing down to the ground with a loud thump.
“Pick him up,” he said gently, “take him back to town. Take him to Doc Richardson,” he finished as he and his posse left the woods.
Back home, Mr. Smith halted his wagon by his main door. His children and came running out, Nate and his wife followed. “Why don’t you give me a hand with all this stuff,” he said to his children.
“Okay pa,” said both Jeb and Dill as they marched to the back of the wagon, together they picked up the large pack of flour and carried into the house. “Abigail, Abigail! Where do you want the flour,” they said as they entered the kitchen.
The rest of the kids were running amok outside in the plowed fields. Mr. Smith smiled and approached his wife.
“Anything happen today?” she asked him.
“No, it was a splendid day,” he said and gave Nate a hand gesture as he hugged his wife after the long and draining day.
Mr. Smith rode to the edge of the town and stopped, getting off of his wagon and walking into the tall brush and woods near the town’s outskirts. The deputy following him was unsure of what to do next. He paused and pondered the options around him, standing straight on the ridge in broad daylight before moving down towards the wagon. He looked in the back to find a few store bought goods, some flour, and a few foods before placing the blanket that was covering it once again.
From the steppes of the ridge, one of Harris’ men appeared. He was staring right at the deputy, nodded his head and started down towards him as well. The bandit halted only a few feet away from the deputy, dismounting his horse and slapping it away.
“What are you doing here?” asked the deputy to the bandit.
“I’m here to kill that little man on the behalf of Evan Harris, you?”
“Marshal Thomas told me to follow him. Who is this guy anyway?” the puzzled deputy asked the rough bandit.
“No one that we need worry about in a few moments, I reckon,” responded the bandit who drew his pistol from his holster and slowly started to walk into the high grass and the tree-line where William Smith had just entered. “Well, are you following me?” he asked the deputy. The deputy was quick to nod his head and followed the bandit into the woods with his gun drawn as well.
They entered the dark and gloomy forest, bugs hovering all over the place; some landing in their eyes and on clothes. The deputy nervously made his way through the woods. He peered over at the bandit who looked straight back at him.
“Where is he?” asked the deputy.
“I don’t know, I guess we should split up. Listen, I’ll go straight ahead and you take the left flank, understood?”
“Yes, I reckon,” answered the uncertain deputy as they moved deeper into the woodland muck and wildlife.
Sweat palmed down from the face of the deputy who was moving the long blades of grass and tree-branches from his face. In a flash, the deputy saw a large brown object right in his face, speeding forward and nailing him across the mouth. The deputy fell back, bleeding and unconscious. His pistol fell into the dirt, quickly to be picked up by the mysterious person. The man looked down at the deputy and smiled.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m not trying to kill you,” said the man.
The bandit was calmly making his way deeper into the woods. From behind, the light from the town was quickly fading; he was now deep into the dense Kentucky wilderness. He began to breathe hard, the humidity was intense for this time of the year, and he panned off the gallons of sweat that had taken control of his face. He opened his mouth, his eyes becoming more dazed as he moved deeper into the woods. He called out for the deputy but no one answered. The man paused near a tall oak tree, taking his hat off and taking a seat on a tree stump nearby.
Behind him, Mr. Smith slowly approached like a predator ready to pounce. Mr. Smith was easily avoiding the twigs and leaves that riddled the ground floor that could give away his presence, his hands clutching the deputy’s pistol, his arm shaking and sweating just as much as the bandit. Mr. Smith crept his way forward, he cocked the pistol back, placing the pistol barrel directly behind the head of the bandit. The bandit froze; he dropped his pistol to the ground and put his arms in the air.
“Please God, don’t…”
“Don’t what? Like you weren’t gonna kill me if you had the chance, right?”
The bandit was trying to stay composed at this point, he started talking about the deputy in an attempt to buy some time and figure out what to do next. Mr. Smith kept the gun glued to his head.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right this moment?” Mr. Smith asked the bandit.
No response.
“Go on,” he said once more.
No response.
Mr. Smith drew back his pistol, the bandit smiled. Just as quickly he turned the pistol around and used the butt as a club and rocked the bandit in the back of the head. Hours had passed since Evan Harris had last sent out his man to try and kill Mr. Smith; he, some of his men, and the Marshal went out around 4 o’clock to find out what had happened. They entered the same woods where the deputy finally staggered out of the woods. He collapsed after reaching the fields where Harris and his party were. The Marshal rode forward.
“Are you alright? What happened? C'mon John! Speak.”
“Leave him Marshal, let’s head in,” said Evan with an evil look in his eyes. As they entered, he split them in four pairs of two; he and the Marshal were going straight ahead. After some time, they eventually stumbled into a startling sight.
Hanging from the tree was the bandit, still alive but barely. He was tied around the tree, about 25 or so feet high, his mouth stuff the barrel of his own pistol in his mouth and a rope tied around the trigger which would cause it to fire if too much tension and pressure was put on the rope. The man was barely conscious; his head was rolling back and forth from exhaustion. The Marshal began yelling out for the others to come back to them. Evan Harris was just looking at the sight, his eyes resembling the devil in everyway, shape, and form. He cracked his neck and took out his pistol.
As he did, the others arrived, Peter and Tank were shocked at the sight, and the others were unable to stomach it and turned away. Evan nodded his head, smiling; he aimed his pistol and shot the rope that was holding him up. After four shots, the man came crashing down to the ground with a loud thump.
“Pick him up,” he said gently, “take him back to town. Take him to Doc Richardson,” he finished as he and his posse left the woods.
Back home, Mr. Smith halted his wagon by his main door. His children and came running out, Nate and his wife followed. “Why don’t you give me a hand with all this stuff,” he said to his children.
“Okay pa,” said both Jeb and Dill as they marched to the back of the wagon, together they picked up the large pack of flour and carried into the house. “Abigail, Abigail! Where do you want the flour,” they said as they entered the kitchen.
The rest of the kids were running amok outside in the plowed fields. Mr. Smith smiled and approached his wife.
“Anything happen today?” she asked him.
“No, it was a splendid day,” he said and gave Nate a hand gesture as he hugged his wife after the long and draining day.
Last edited:
A normal day I assume...
That's what I was thinking as well! :rofl:
Another fantastic update volks! The scenes you create are so surreal, it's like we're watching them on TV!
A splendid day if you're Rambo!
Smith is one bad man. Harris might want to reconsider messing with him and his family.
Smith is one bad man. Harris might want to reconsider messing with him and his family.
I've spent the better half of this week catching up with this, and I most say this continues to excellent work volksmarschall! If only I had more free-time to stay on pace with your magnificent AAR!