Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich Page B

bitch to another, does that satisfy you?"
    "Barely," the boss said, taking another drink. He all but drained the bottle and tossed it out on the ground, where it shattered, then looked over expectantly at Cruickshank. Cruickshank motioned to one of his sergeants, who reluctantly came over, opened his haversack, and pulled out another.
    For the first time, McDougal smiled, uncorked it, took another drink, then passed it back to Cruickshank, who took a long one as well.
    Outside the boxcar this was read as a signal that things were simmering down. A few of his men, as Cruickshank had hoped, took out bottles and passed them to the work crew facing them.
    "Let me guess," Cruickshank asked, "you're a Union man, aren't you?"
    "And if I admit to that, do I get arrested?"
    "No. We're not like Lincoln, who's arrested thousands."
    "Well, before you and your men came and took over Baltimore, we had business here. Good pay. I've let go of nearly all my crews. Men of mine are starving, thanks to you."
    "I don't see any colored around here," Cruickshank said.
    The yard boss laughed.
    "With you graybacks coming? Every last one took off,
    most likely working the yards up in Wilmington or Philadelphia now. I lost some good men, thanks to you."
    "I could say the same thing," Cruickshank replied. "Look, you and I are stuck in the middle of all this. I drove wagons before the war; you put together trains. I've got orders, and I'm told you'll get orders, too. Our civilian boss, Mr. Benjamin, is supposed to be meeting with your boss right now to set up the contracts, but I was told to get over here right now and start things moving. So either we work together, or I'll shoot you here and now, say you attacked me, then get my men to take over."
    "You do that, you'll have a riot on your hands," McDou gal replied with a sm ile. "Besides, what kind of gentl eman are you to give a man a drink, then shoot him?"
    "I'm no gentleman."
    "I thought all you Southern officers were gentlemen. And besides, you sound a bit like a damn Englishman."
    "Listen, McDougal. Someday I'll tell you my hard-luck story. I'm not Irish, but the slums of Liverpool are just as tough for a working-class English boy. I'm an officer because I was a civilian teamster before the war running supplies to army posts out in Texas. You name the place and I'll run a hundred wagons to it, and be damned to whoever gets in my way. I've killed more than my share of Comanche and a few drunken Irish, too, when they tried their hand at thieving from my wagon train."
    McDougal looked at him and burst out laughing, taking the bottle back, and after a long drink, handed it back.
    Outside the boxcar the laughter was a signal for everyone to relax, and more bottles came out. Cruickshank watched them for a second. It was fine that they mingled, but get them too drunk and maybe a brawl would start just for the hell of it, unraveling all the concessions he had been forced to make so far.
    "Four trains it is that you want?" McDougal asked. "That's what I figure. Actually would prefer six, but figure I'd start with four." "What the hell for?"
    There was no sense in lying about it. Once they started loading up, the whole yard would see it. "Ever seen a pontoon bridge?" "You mean a bridge on boats?"
    "Yes, damn them. Boats that you lay planking across. I hate the damn things." "That's your job?"
    "My curse. Each boat is nearly thirty feet long. It takes a dozen mules to move but one on a road, and if the road is too narrow or twisting ... well, it makes you want to shoot yourself or get drunk. I got forty of 'em, plus the bridging lumber, and I need to get them to Frederick."
    "Frederick?" McDougal laughed. "Between you and the Union boys, that line is a mess. Water tanks toppled, temporary bridges ready to fall apart, a helluva mess. The bridge over the Monocacy was blown last year during the fighting around Antietam, and she was a beauty. I helped put it up before the war, and then some dumb rebel blows it