Historical Fiction Finalist:The 2016 Awards from AwardsForStories.
In 1863 on the tiny island of Key West, Yankee spy Aaron Matthews must find and eliminate a deadly Rebel saboteur whom he fears just may be the woman he loves.
ILLUSTRATION: View from the ramparts of Fort Zachary Taylor today.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Unless Aaron can provide the spy's identity, the fort's acting commandant is going to ship hundreds of Key West citizens to a prisoner-of-war camp in the Carolinas.
Enjoy Chapter 13 of MUDSILLS & MOONCUSSERS.
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Colonel Morgan and Lila Dauthier strolled arm-in-arm along the breezy upper level of the ramparts of Fort Taylor. Lila laughed and leaned against him, and he puffed up like a grouse in a mating dance.
"I swear, Colonel, you are so droll," Lila fawned. "And I feel guilty being so gay while everyone in town is depressed about that horrible evacuation."
"Don't trouble your pretty head about that, Miss Dauthier," he replied. "Neither you nor any other loyal National need have any fear with regard to that order. Only those whose sympathies are with the rebellion will suffer, and that is as it should be."
Their stroll took them to the eastern end of the ramparts, where a sentry and sharpshooter stood at their posts. Oddly, the two men had laid out a conspicuous row of half a dozen muzzle-loaders, primed and ready, leaning neatly against the brick wall beside them. The two soldiers, each with his gun in hand, stood alert and straining their eyes skyward. Today they would not miss anything that dared fly past them.
Lila took in this strange tableau as Colonel Morgan ushered her down the steps toward the parade ground.
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[Illustr.: Mountains of Jamaica, overlooking Caribbean Sea]
Meanwhile, on a Jamaican mountaintop, the Yankee executive officer stood looking eastward across the Caribbean when his commanding officer, accompanied by a young ensign, stepped up from behind him.
Below in the harbor the U.S. ships stood ready to leave for Key West.
"Well," said the C.O., "I confess I feel naked sailing without the mortars and a few of the cannon, but our job is not to shell the fort, is it."
"No, sir," the exec said. "I wish you'd reconsider the timing, sir. Sailing the Florida Straits at night is a risky business."
"Yes, but you will keep us off the reefs, won't you, Ensign?" asked the C.O., turning toward the younger man.
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Good. I wouldn't want to be rescued by the very people I'm expected to carry away." The C.O. returned his attention to the exec. "What are you looking at?"
The X.O. gestured to the northern horizon, where a dim line of mountaintops could barely be seen on this clear day. "Cuba," he said. "Where they are. Between us and Key West. We're stripped down to carry passengers, and we've got to cross Johnny Reb's doorstep to get where we're going. Respectfully, sir ... I don't like it much."
