They Drove Old Dixie Down

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by Chewy

The gunmetal-gray clouds lit up and roared like an army's worth of cannon firing double-shot. Rain poured down in solid sheets, and lightning fired off frequently enough that Jeb thought he would be able to read a newspaper by its awful light. The lightning lit up the valley below, guiding the way of the ragged line Confederate cavalry to momentary safety.

The remnants of the 11th Tennessee Calvary rode in a sodden skirmish line into the valley. Jeb smiled grimly, for the remnants of the once fine regiment now numbered four men. Three years ago, in 1861, there were six hundred of them. Now the troopers of the glorious 11th lay rotting in the ground in dozens of lonely battle-places, or under old camps where they died of disease and fever, or in Yankee prison camps where they starved. The only lucky ones were those who had simply gone home, from wounds or from despair. They at least had a chance of surviving this murderous war, though with freed negroes and rapacious Union cavalry that scoured what was left of the land made the refuge of home a slender one.

Jeb was their leader, by both rank and merit. He was a hard lean man these days, with little to tell anyone that he was a twenty-nine year-old former schoolteacher. A badly healed saber-cut marred a chiseled face, courtesy of a run-in with some Union troopers outside of Knoxville. He had worked his way up to Major by leading his troops as well as anyone, keeping them alive and mostly victorious.

The other three were a mixed lot. Hoss was a huge brute of man, well over six foot, muscled and foul-tempered as a bear. Hank was a thin lean former farmer, having lost his land before the war to some slave-run plantation. He had a wife and kids down in Alabama, but at least one of his kids had starved to death after they had been tossed off their land. The last of the four was a seventeen year-old named Billie. He was a farm kid who had joined two years ago eager to share the adventures of a soldier. He had learned a lot of things the hard way since then, though every once in a while he would still smile and remind everyone how young he was. He was also a deadly shot, and had killed a dozen men, which was a lot for someone who could barely shave.

Jeb and his handful of men fought on, a bitter rearguard making the bluebellies pay for what they were doing. There were no more battles with bright silken flags and flashing sabers. Now the remnants of the south's paladins fought in small scattered groups, ambushing and harrying as best they could. It was raid and counter-raid, of small groups of determined men riding out of the darkness, of slit throats and shots in the back. It was murder, but murder with an age-old purpose, to make a hated conqueror bleed into the land they stole.

The land no longer supported the men who risked their lives to defend it. It was fought-out, foraged and pillaged to the squirrels grew skinny and an unburnt cabin seemed like a heavenly dream. The union troopers were deliberately turning the country into a wasteland, denying the defenders even the smallest comfort, hunting them down like dangerous starving beasts.

Worse yet, the union used niggers to do their dirty work. Niggers soldiers by the regiment full. The North called it revenge, but to the beleaguered southerners the black soldiers were just another awful weapon aimed at their way of life, just another kind of locust sent to help turn the land into desert. Jeb was never a slave-owner, and none of the men left in the command were anywhere near rich enough to afford a bondsman. They fought to save their land and way of life, not to defend some rich gentry's plantation. But that didn't matter now. The men who led the south swore to die for slavery, and Jeb and his men were the ones who were expected to do the dying.

They had killed the last of the pursuers a couple of hours ago. They were being harried by one of those black cavalry units. The darkies were new to this kind of war, most having been farmhands only a year ago, and they paid a heavy price for their inexperience.

Jeb's men ambushed them as they crossed a rain-swollen creek. The darkies were cold and wet and over-eager to close in on their quarry, so they forgot to send scouts across first to check for an ambush. That was a beginner's mistake, and they got killed for it.

Jeb's men shot four out their saddles in the first volley. Using their pistols they bagged three more before the bluebellies could even begin to kick their horses back through the surging water.

Jeb couldn't forget one of men he killed. He was a sergeant, an old grizzled trooper who looked tough enough to eat horse-leather. The man's mount was barely in the stream, he could have turned back. But a young boy just ahead of him was hit in the stomach by a slug, and sagged helplessly in the saddle. The old sergeant plunged into the lethal waters, grabbing the young trooper and pulling his to one side, shielding him from the fast-firing rebels with his own body. The sergeant drew a pistol and fired wildly, screaming defiance at the unseen attackers as he tried to draw the young boy to safety.

Jeb drew a bead on him. The man was brave, as brave as any one who had ever died in this awful war. But it was war and Jeb fired, blowing a hole into the man's chest, then added another slug into the wounded boy's body. The sergeant and the young trooper fell from their saddles and into the water, already dead if they were lucky, if they were unlucky they would live long enough to drown. That is war, one brave man killing another and hoping it was not all a waste. Hoping that maybe you can someday forget the look on the face of a decent man you just shot down because he wore a different uniform.

The rest of the nigra's charged into the water, a brave but hopelessly stupid thing to do. They died like sheep in a slaughter chute, unable to get across the stream fast enough to avoid the bullets that blew them out of their saddles one after another. Jeb and his men shot them, doing what they had done so many times before. Another minute and the union patrol was dead to a man, victims of bad luck and worse tactics.

Jeb couldn't get that sergeant out of his head. He was a nigra, but had been a brave man, someone who gave his life for another without a moment's hesitation. The government said darkies were natural slaves, but somehow Jeb doubted that any man who would give his life for another should ever be a slave. Not that it mattered much, for the time for thinking had ended years ago. Who was right was being decided by bullets, not reason. The black sergeant was an enemy, and you killed enemies before they killed you.

They had for a moment destroyed their pursuit, but an even more relentless enemy had them with their backs to a wall. Hunger. They were all starved, belts cinched to the last holes, what was left of their uniforms limp over thin frames. Hunger was killing them as surely as canister, and a lot slower.

In the lightning flashes Jeb saw a house, a big stately plantation house. The window and outbuildings were dark, but that meant little in these days. No one still alive was stupid enough to show a light at night, for that easily drew soldiers and worse.

The four tired rebels dismounted, tied their horses to posts and stalked towards the silent house. Pistols drawn, they circled the place, seeing no threat. Then Jeb quietly opened the front door. The lock was smashed, telling him the place was already looted, and it was a wonder it had not been burnt down for the sheer hell of it.

The place was dark as Braxton Bragg's heart. Jeb entered cautiously, pistol ready. As far as Jeb could tell the place was a wreck, all smashed furniture and debris. But then was a movement close by, a quick frightened scurrying in the dark.

Jeb wasn't sure why he just didn't shoot. Instead he kicked, his boot heal connecting with something soft and yielding. There was a feminine scream and a body smacked hard against the opposite wall.

Someone lit a sulphur match and in the flickering light a figure in a ragged dress staggered away, trying to get away from the men.

Hoss tackled the woman, holding her down and clamping his hand over her mouth to keep her from making any noise. He was strong enough to break her neck without trying, and whoever she was she had the good sense to stop struggling.

It took long anxious minutes to make sure the rest of the house and the other buildings were clear. Then they gathered in the parlor, where to everyone's everlasting amazement they found a pile of kindling in the hearth. They stahemorrhage the horses, then returned to the main house and lit a fire.

The four's eyes lit up when they saw their captive. She was a black girl, and real pretty one at that. She lay on the floor staring up at the four of them with big fearful brown eyes. She wore a loose thin cotton blouse and skirt that she clutched tightly over her body as if could shield her from their gaze.

And she had a lot to shield. She wasn't fat, hell no one was fat these days, but she still kept a fleshy roundness to her that to sex-starved men was like a pool of honey in a desert. Full breasts pushed against the thin cotton blouse, and her skirt could not conceal the swell of full hips and heavy buttocks. Even her bare arms and calves looked good, well-proportioned and strong without losing any femininity. Her smooth dark skin was clean and glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

She was scared shitless. Lone women do not fare well in a war zone, not ever, and the girl knew it. Her eyes kept darting from man to man, looking for some sign of gentleness, and not finding even a flicker.

Jeb grabbed her hands and examined the. Soft. This was no field hand, or more importantly, no soldier's girl. Finding a camp-follower would be bad, for that meant there were bluecoats about, but this girl was too healthy, too clean to have lived a hard outdoor life. Jeb pulled back the scarf that hid her hair, and saw her lustrous curly hair was well-combed and cared for. That settled it, this girl had spent her life indoors, in the manor house.

The questioned her. Her name was Eliza, and she was indeed a house slave, at least until her owners had fled. There were not enough horses for her, so the man who had used her as a bed-warmer simply abandoned her. That was a pretty brutal act since this girl plainly was as lost as a lamb in the woods. People like her did not do well stuck in the middle of hell.

She had lived here for a week, scrounging off of scraps of food left behind. Sadly, all that food was now gone, which brought muttered curses from the half-starved soldiers. She admitted she hoped to fall in with some Union soldiers when they showed up, which brought even more muttered curses from the men.

They raped her. Simple as that. None of the men were particularly cruel or wicked, but four years of war and horror had changed them, had dulled the things that were good in them to mere memories, had brought the beast that everyone has buried in them to the forefront. If not, they would be dead or gone mad. Maybe someday, if any of them lived, the good in them would return like a late spring, would make them whole again, and maybe they could forget and forgive what had happened.

So they raped her. They did things that would have horrified them only years before. The girl sobbed and begged and they still took her, rutting on her with angry pent-up frustration and need. It wasn't deliberately cruel, it was more like she was just a THING, something that was not entitled to any empathy. That she was black and therefore a symbol of all they had suffered for the last few years made it easier, easier to overlook what they did, what they made her do.

It was over at last. She lay cowering next to the fire, quietly sobbing as she balled up into a fetal position.

No one looked at her. There was still enough humanity left in them to feel some shame at what they had done. Billie even gave folded her clothes neatly next to her, as if that might be some form of apology. The kid met Jeb's eyes as he moved away from the girl. He looked ready to cry. Jeb winced, knowing the kid was right. In a way what they had done was like the whole damm war, feeling sorry well after it was too damm late to do anything about it. Hell, at least the girl was alive, and hurt less then a lot of folks these days. At least she didn't have a leg or arm blown off, or lay dying from a belly wound that rotted badly enough to draw flies from a mile away. If she were strong she would heal as well as anyone else who was hurt in this war for everyone had scars these days.

The men slept. Billie was outside on guard. They were all so hungry they could have eaten a week-old dead horse, but finally simple exhaustion made them doze. In the morning Jeb intended to keep moving, keep looking for some way to hurt the Northerners. The girl would be let go, hell they might even give her a ride close enough to some town that she could make the rest of the way on her own.

There was a crash, loud enough to startle Jeb into instant alertness. Hell, it was no crash, it was a gunshot.

Hoss was howling in pain and surprise.

The black girl was standing over him, a smoking cavalry pistol in her hands.

Jeb pulled his pistol and shot her, blowing a wet red hole right in the middle of her dark sweat-streaked belly.

The girl was blown back against the far wall, a hoarse wet scream escaping from her mouth. She leaned against the wall for a second, staring at Jeb and his gun. Then she looked down and saw the hole in her middle, the blood running out, the first hint of leaking gut. With a low sob she slid down and collapsed onto her back, her hands clutching her middle trying to keep her innards from bolting out the open barn door.

Hoss rose with a savage snarl, a red furrow bleeding along the side of one of his huge arms. "bitch!!!!" He roared, "I'm gonna tear you up for this!!!!"

Jeb started to intervene, but knew better. Hoss was only lightly wounded, no doubt thanks to the unexpected hard action of the cavalry pistol the nigra girl had used. She probably had been aiming at Hoss's head, but cavalry pistols triggers had a lot of resistance to keep them from discharging by accident in a charge or a melee. Her hand had jerked as she pulled the trigger back, saving her victim's life.

Jeb knew better then to rile Hoss when he was in a killing mood. Officer or know, Hoss would beat him senseless or worse in his rage, and only someone dying would calm him. And maybe the girl deserved it; she would probably have killed them all if she had the chance. Now she was the one to be doing the dying.

Hoss took out the huge Bowie knife her carried. The dark girl's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when she saw the gleaming inches of sharp steel.

Billie jumped up between Hoss and the downed slave. He held his hands out, pleading for Hoss to spare the girl, like it would do any good. Damm, Jeb had no choice now. He jumped in the middle too, to save Billie from getting his young ass sliced to jerky. Dam kid was too dumb to know when to just let things be.

"Get out of my way Billie" Hoss hissed, so angry he could barely form words. "I'm gonna open her like a pig!"

"Put it down Hoss" Jeb roared in his best officer's voice. It was the voice that could rise over the din of battle, had rallied them at Shiloh and Corinth and dozens of places else. Years of service together had taught the men to listen to that voice if they wanted to live.

It was just barely enough to make Hoss hesitate. He blinked, his eyes bloodshot with anger, looking at Jeb in half-mad questioning.

"You gonna stop me from killing her, a darkie?" He snarled, working ready to bury the knife in someone's belly, be it lack or Confederate. "You gonna risk you life to save some nigra bitch that just tried to kill us?"

"Yes" Jeb said, not sure if he meant it. Hoss picked up on the indecision and smiled a slow wicked smile and stepped closer to the cowering girl.

Billie moved to stand between Hoss and the girl. Maybe he was guilty over the rape, or maybe he was just picking a stupid time to get all noble. Billie had guts, that was for sure, cause there weren't many men who ever deliberately got in Hoss's way. This was going to get real ugly and Jeb began to raise his pistol, not sure who he was going to aim it at.

"Stop!" Hank shouted, the first thing he had said all day. "stop it you butternut-brained hillbillies!" he shouted, his face lined with desperate anger. Everyone stopped, shocked that the normally silent man suddenly was shouting them all down.

"We ain't killing no-one that ain't already dead" Hank went on with a quite but deadly seriousness. "There ain't many of us left and we gotta stick together. Anyone here think that nigra ain't already as good as dead? Look at her guts, take a smell. She'll be dead of fever tomorrow. And she'll go real painful, so sticking her with a knife will be a mercy."

Jeb looked at the girl, at her wound. Hank was right, no one got up from a gut-tearing like that. Even the girl knew it, her eyes already growing dazed with resignation as she held her innards in. Blood still leaked through her fingers, coating her belly and naked thighs, soaking the dark patch of hair over her privates like a sticky flood.

"And we're starving" Hank added, his voice strangely intense. "We are going to be dead as she in a while if we don't get something to eat. Ain't no food, no livestock around here, none at all. Except her.

The other three men froze at that. Even Hoss looked stunned.

"You saying we should eat her?" Jeb asked in a whisper. "Eat a woman?"

"Why not" Hank retorted. "And it ain't a woman anyway. She ain't like us, she is a colored. Kinda not a real person, so it's all right to do things to her. They property, nothing more."

"But people don't eat people" Jeb said, his voice level and quite.

You think so? We it ain't. You heard the rumors from those East Tennessee boys last month. That last winter up in the mountains it got so bad that folks began to eat folks, was the only thing left.

"But those folk who got ate were dead" Hoss growled, looking dubious. The knife in his hand quavered, then he looked at the girl speculatively. Looked at her long bare legs, her hips, full and fleshy like great glistening dark hams.

"Yeah, we ain't got no dead folk to eat" Hank snapped, sounding insanely reasonable as he discussed killing and devouring a young woman. Well a colored woman, but somehow Jeb found himself trying to remember that it didn't make a difference what a woman looked like, that it was just wrong to eat one. He looked at the girl too, found his eyes lingering on her rounded shoulders, the globes of her breasts and his stomach growled. He should be sick at the idea, but he was starving, starving so back he was dizzy, his will and his conscience weak.

"It's ok to eat them, hell they caused this whole mess by wanting something they shouldn't, it's only fair. She's as good as dead know, but if we wait, she'll spoil from that gutshot and we will go hungry." Hank stared straight at Jeb, almost daring his officer to say something. "Major, I never, ever went against you, cause I know you're a good man and as likely as anyone to get us through this alive, but now I'm telling you. We will die if we don't do this, and everything we ever did will be for nothing. Just to save some tender feeling? Major, she is going to die, lets get some use from her."

Billie looked sick, his face pale, but even he was looking at the girl in a wistful way. He stared at her breasts, the heavy masses so soft, so soft and full of buttery fat. He licked his lips, then stopped and began to pray something. Pray that he really didn't se that gentle bosom as meat, that he wasn't so dammed hungry that he'd rather bite them suck them.

Hoss had already made up his mind, and he was grinning at the girl as he hefted his knife. He never minded killing, and it did seem to be just some bible-thumping horseshit that it was allright to kill people in cold blood, but it was a sin to use the body after you got done murdering it. Especially when that body looked so damm good and eatable.

Hank had also drawn his knife, his face set and determined. He remembered his family starving a few years back, remembered how he had prayed for the Lord to show some mercy, and got only more drought for an answer. He remembered burying his kids, and vowed that this time he wasn't going to be a good man and let folks he cared for die just because what they had to do wasn't pretty. And the darkie did look good, sleek and healthy with enough meat to save them all if only they had the guts to take it.

Jeb looked at the girl, wanting to do something brave, something noble, just like in all those books. Cavaliers in books always found a way to do the noble thing, no matter what the danger, and in the end they were always rewarded for their faith. Except they weren't cavaliers. They were four starving men in a murdering hell. And the meat, the meat of a woman who was going to die anyway offered them a slender hope. She was gonna die anyway, and that rich dark flesh would do nothing but feed the bugs while the men who depended on him starved. That settled it. Jeb nodded, and drew his knife.

The girl screamed, having heard every word. She shrieked and tried to crawl away, leaving a smear of blood on the once-polished floor. She babhemorrhage something, a plea or a prayer, but no one was listening.

Hoss got to her first, rolled her over on her back and slit her mahogany belly open like a sow's. The skin parted like chocolate custard, the underside of her black skin layered in fat the color of heated gold. Hoss's hand slipped on the greasy blood and the girl wiggled away, her belly skin flopping loosely at her sides.

Jeb reached for her throat, hoping to cut it and at least end her suffering, but she was thrashing around so much he plain missed. He slashed again, but she had raised an arm in self-defense, and his knife cut through the top of her forearm down to the bone. Blood spurted, hot and salty. A drop splashed his lips and he licked it and something stirred in his groin, something evil but wonderful.

Hoss slammed a boot down on her hips to slow her wiggling, then began to cut her guts out. Hank helped, holding her legs down, though he had some trouble. The girl was young and strong, and wasn't going to die easily. He was tossed off, one slender foot catching him in the ribs for good measure. He gave a pained chuckle and jumped back on her, holding her powerful legs together like her were wrestling a greased gator.

All four men had lived on farm, and were used to slaughtering animals. It was surprising how they slipped into the role, acting like the shrieking woman was just some crazy sow who had broke loose and was making a mess of things. Hoss even laughed as one flailing arm slammed into the side of his head as he dumped a handful of innards to one side. He straddled her hips to gut her better, cutting her chitlins free with savage glee.

Jeb at last grabbed the girl's wounded arm and flung it out of the way. He used the opening and drove his blade straight into her Adam's apple, the knife-tip burying into her spine. One of her hand clutched at his shirt, her fingers shaking with pain and some emotion he couldn't guess at.

The girl looked up at Jeb, her dark eyes still oddly beautiful even as they died. The girl gurgled, her mouth foaming blood. She kept looking at Jeb, her lips working as if asking him why. He stared back, determined to at least not look away from what he had done. He owed her that. He kept staring, long after the dark eyes had grown still and empty.

They slaughtered her like a hog. Hank tossed a line over one of the rafters and Hoss tied the girl's ankles and hoisted her up. They all looked at the slaughtered Negress as she hung limply in the flickering firelight. The reddish light gleamed off her smooth skin, bathing her in an unearthly beautiful light. Every curve of her body stood out, her body more perfectly molded than Jeb thought anything this side of heaven could be. She looked like a dark-fleshed angel, fallen out of the night sky and too good for the mere mortals that groped her body. A mahogany angel, save for the hole in her belly and throat. Save for the fact that her blood was leaking out her neck in a syrupy flood. Save for the fact that they were about to eat her like she was just another butchered farm animal.

They cut her up, starting at the legs. Human flesh slices easily. The muscles at the back of her calf came free in one slow deep cut, the meat a deep pink and finely grained. It did look just like pork, but far more tender and well-marhemorrhage. Save for the black skin clinging to the gammon it looked like any other fresh pork loin.

Hoss took a slice and bit into it. He chewed very slowly at first, afraid such forbidden meat would taste like poison. Then his eyes lit up like her had just been laid, and began to chew with gusto. "Damm, nigra tastes mighty dammed good" was all he said as he took another slice and popped it into his mouth. He kept chewing, looking like some damm drunk with a full bottle still to go.

Jeb cut three more thin slices from the girl's thigh. He handed them out, like bloody communion wafers. Hank took his right away, not bothered by the fact that it came from a woman's leg. Billie looked sick, ready to puke, but he took it anyway. He bit in, ready to spew, but the same unholy light flared in his eyes as he tasted the unholy meat. The color returned to his face and he too began to chew like a crazy goat, a trickle of blood leaking from his lips as he ate his first bit of woman.

Jeb became a cannibal a second later. He too was ready to gag, ready to spit out such defiled fare. Then he too found out why human flesh was so strictly forbidden, why even the tiniest morsel was denied. Because human flesh was like no other food, and the merest taste will turn even the best of men into beasts.

It was meat to be sure, like pork but much more finely grained and delicate, gamy with blood and still as warm as the woman it had been cut from. But it was more, much, much more. Jeb's dick grew hard, harder then ever before in his life, so hard it hurt. His mouth filled with warmth, like he had sipped some divine liquor. It was beyond mere taste like fine wine is beyond a brackish mud puddle. It was like he was tasting life itself, sex and lust and mad pure rut and the only thing he could think of was he needed more.

He cut another slice, careful not to get cut as his companions also began to carve into the negress like madmen. Jeb ate, ate more woman, no longer even caring the slightest that was he was eating was just minutes ago a beautiful woman. All he cared about was eating her.

His body tingled, every wound and hurt fading away like bad dreams. Every mouthful made the pain go further away, till it was all forgotten. The only thing that existed was the hot warmth of the woman's flesh in his mouth, in his belly. He ate, at some point not bothering to use his knife, but just bit, using his teeth like famished wolf. He tasted breast for the first time, tasted belly and thigh. He remembered the taste of buttock flesh in his jaws, rich and meaty and wholly wonderful. He burrowed deep, his face locked into her rump as tightly as a lover clasping a lover's passionate body.

He was their leader, and was allowed her womanhood. He scarcely noticed the rich lustrous hair that clung to his lips as he bit the thick still-pink lips. He dug deeper, deeper till he found her pearl with his teeth and took it like some ghastly conqueror's trophy.

In the morning they rode away, silent. Each man was alone with his thoughts, though none bore the look of regret. The saddlebags were full of rations at last, wrapped in lengths of fresh dark girlskin. They had flensed the girl till only bones were left. They buried the bones and offal out back, and cut up the cuts of meat till none were recognizable as coming from anything other than an unusually large pig. Even the skin looked like fine leather, oddly dark and usually soft, but nothing more. Funny how a woman could be reduced to a pile of nameless meat, in the end no better than any other food beast. All you needed was the need and the stomach to do it.

The salted woman-pork was salted and would last a while, long enough to give them strength to continue the fight. They rode on, gray and silent, to continue the fight till the end of days if it came to it. No retreat, no surrender.

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