Chapter 73: Lt. Foster

The British continued to harass us, pressing us back in our retreat. My company was usually doing rear-guard duty. One day, a week or so after my enjoyment of the girl in the barn, a pleasure my aching cock still recalled early in the morning, we swooped down on the supply train of a Redcoat regiment and were deep into pillage and plunder when a bunch of dragoons appeared out of nowhere, and we had to fight for our lives and then flee, every man for himself. They ran off our horses, and I scrambled into the woods with the lieutenant right at my heels.

We had almost reached the brushline when he screamed an oath and crumpled, rolling back and forth in pain. I dropped my musket, scooped him up, tossed him over my shoulder and ran as hard as I could for as long at I could, until I thought my lungs would burst. When I reached a small stream, I stopped and together we found he had been shot in the thigh, just above the knee and that the ball was still in him. I offered to cut it out, but he took one look at my big knife and declined so I bandaged him as well and tightly as I could. His boot was full of blood.

Two days later, two very wet and hungry days, we emerged in some pasture land, and I spied a barn in the distance. As we made our three-legged way toward it and the house became visible, I was surprised to see that I had returned to the site of a recent coupling, a well-remembered horse-stall pleasure that sent blood coursing into my groin. I hauled the lieutenant into the shade and went to the back door.

The cook recognized me, having given me a number of pies, rewards for serving the mistress so well, but said the lady of the house was not at home and that her daughter, Miss Julie, was up in her room with the miseries. I clomped up the stairs and tried doors until I found the girl.

"What are you doing here," she squealed, turning from her mirror where she had been brushing her long hair. She was bare except for a lacy shift, and I just stood and admired her bulbous charms and pear-shaped body for a while, wondering if I should toss her on the bed and swive her or get help for my feverish officer. It was a difficult decision.

"Don't remember me, do you?" I asked, and she squinted and cocked her head.

"Yes I do," she said, nodding. "Now I do. You ran off. Didn't even, but you're a soldier, a rebel." She stood, brush still in her hand, and I enjoyed watching her pointed breasts jiggle and her nipples harden. She was barefoot, and the top of her curly head barely reached my chin. Her hair flowed nearly to her waist.

"Yep," I said, "that's me, and I need some help. I've got a wounded man out in the barn.

She stepped to me, bending her neck to look up. "You certainly are dirty," she said with a grin.

I bent and kissed her. holding her shoulders and slipping the straps from them. "And you need to shave," she said, shrugging the thin shift-straps back where she wanted them. "Go on; I'll get dressed." She shooed me out, and I headed back to the barn, ignoring my erection.

By nightfall a doctor had been summoned and with a long probe that looked like a ice-pick, got the deformed ball out of Lt. Foster's leg, cauterized the wound he had enlarged and bandaged the thigh. Julie had watched all this despite the doctor's pleas for her to go away. Foster had been on his belly for most of the operation, biting on a thick piece of leather while I held him down, but then we rolled him over so he could sit up and be bandaged. That was when the girl got a good look at his impressive member and made a wry face, catching my eye. Foster was undoubtedly part stallion for even in repose his manhood was startling indeed, much the size, shape and color of a blood sausage.

They fed us and I helped the lieutenant up to my loft bed and then went back to the house, hoping I would be invited to lie between a pair of young legs. But Mother was home, and she was unhappy.

"You deceived me, sirrah," was the first thing she said to me. "You are a damned rebel, and I want you away from here as soon as possible. You are to have no more traffic with this idiot girl. Shame on you for taking advantage of her." She jerked her thumb at her sad-eyed daughter. "And stay out of sight." She flounced from her sitting room, hauling Julie with her. The girl looked at me over her mother's shoulder and essayed a small smile.

Two days later all hell broke loose. The master of the house, a very successful trader in the city that I had seen but once before, bewigged and frock-coated, arrived in a fancy carriage with five enemy officers, two Redcoats and three black-uniformed Germans. There was a lot of hustle and bustle as preparations were made for a dinner for the visiting dignitaries.

Foster was a good bit better, eating like a horse and grumbling about the bed while I had been sleeping on the floor in a quilt and dreaming of pliant girls. The visiting group evidently had been drinking on the way north and kept right on drinking apple jack so that by the time the candles were lit, the goose cooked and the silver laid, the Germans were fiercely singing incomprehensible songs and the two Brits were passed out in the sitting room, sprawled near the fireplace. One of them had vomited on the floor covering.

That is when I heard a scream and looked out of our small window to see Julie, dress nearly torn from her back, come running into the barn yard with two black-coated men in hot pursuit, their belts flapping. From the house came another female cry so I hurried down the ladder, hoping the lieutenant would follow, drew my big knife and charged out into the twilight gloom. The men had trapped the crying Julie near the well and were taking turns ripping away her clothes, laughing and tossing shreds of cloth in all directions. One had already torn open his codpiece and produced his turgid prick so their intent was obvious.

The girl saw me coming just before I drove my blade into one attacker. thrusting up to carve his heart. He fell with most of the girl's bodice in his fist as the other German drew his straight sword and cursed loudly. Fortunately for me, he was not too firm on his feet, and I had little trouble stepping inside his wild swing, grabbing his wrist and gutting him like a deer.

The girl stood, bare breasted, head down and hands on her knees. I patted her sturdy back and wiped my blade on my thigh. Then came an explosion from the house, the sound of a shot, so I took her by the wrist and ran, her feet barely touched the ground and her big, puff-ball breasts were flopping wildly when we reached the back door.

I pulled the door open and a big German in his shirt-sleeves staggered out and fell on his face with Foster right behind him, a smoking pistol in his hand.

"Stupid bastard," the lieutenant said. "He'd put this thing aside to grapple with the lady."

"Mother!" Julie screamed and ran into the house. Foster backed up and watched her squeeze past him with a smile.

"What about the other two?" I asked.

"Haven't seen 'em," Foster said, wobbling a bit. I helped him to sit down and went on inside. The two women were huddled together near a center-hall doorway. I heard someone hurrying down the stairs and then a man ran into the room, holding up his breeches at his paunchy belly.

"What's going on?" he yelled. "I heard a shot."

"Your guests decided to rape your women," I said, and he looked at me goggle-eyed.

'Who the devil are you?" he demanded, stuffing in his ruffled shirt and doing a waist button.

"Nobody," I said as one of the lounging British officers stretched and yawned in the sitting room behind him.

"What happened here?" he asked more quietly. "Your dress is torn," he said to his wife. She ignored him and took her bare-chested daughter to the foot of the steps.

"Get those men out of my house," she said quietly. One of the slave girls passed the mother and daughter on the stairs, adjusting her clothes and smiling.

"There's three dead Germans out there," I told the man. "While you were horsing that little black girl, they attacked your wife and daughter."

"Can't believe it," the man said. "Dead?"

"Who's dead?" asked a large red-coated colonel, getting to his feet and buttoned his tight-fitting jacket. His face was red and his voice slurred.

Lt. Foster returned, having reloaded his big pistol. He leaned on the door jamb and surveyed the scene. "Now what?" he asked.

"You're rebels," the florid Redcoat said, pulling his sword with a grating rasp. Foster raised his pistol and blew off the top of his head, spraying the wall and ceiling with blood and brains. The gun made a terrific noise in the room and woke the other British officer. I stepped behind the man's chair, lifted his chin and cut his throat right to left, spraying the rug and my boots with blood.

"Are you mad?" the shaken businessman said, looking at the two bodies on the bloody floor of his well-decorated sitting room.

"Just soldiers," I said, wiping my blade on the back of the man I had killed as he sat slumped over, arms and head dangling. "Doing our job."

I led the man out to the barn and tied him to a post. I suggested he make himself comfortable and said that we would decide what to do with him in the morning. He did not say much of anything. Then I got some of the hands to help me load the five bodies into the waiting carriage. "Take them to the river," I told the driver and his helper, "dump them in." I gave them each a coin from one of the five purses I had collected. I was quite wealthy for a brief while.