Little Powell Meets the Father General

[Neal]

As he rode across the Virginia countryside, General Powell wondered what he did wrong to get his current assignment. Perhaps the man on the horse ahead of him would have some answer. Urging his horse up a grassy knoll, his mount finished the last few yards to where the now nearly infamous "Father General" sat astride his white horse dressed in a gaudy, spotless white uniform with gold trim that was supposedly a gift from the governor of Mississippi. He wondered quietly to himself if it was meant to make a target of the man rather than to edify him. But those thoughts were put aside as he saluted. "General Neal, I am General Powell."

"Good day to you sir," the Father General grunted as he continued scanning the horizon with his field glasses.

"Do you see them?"

"The blue bellies? No. But I shall, and when I do--well..."

"General, my division has been tasked with reinforcing yours, that we may hold the heights behind us against the Yankee advance. I understand your division is under strength." The Father General appeared to wince at these words. He now gave General Powell a penetrating stare, as he seemed to measure up the man. Powell returned the icy stare, and made a conscious effort not to blink. The Father General's eyes narrowed. Then he averted his gaze. He raised his glasses to his eyes and focused on a treeline in the distance.

"Hold." he muttered. "General Powell," the Father General snapped the field glasses down and gave another penetrating look that nearly startled General Powell with the sheer insanity of the moment. "I don't hold things. Surely, you must know this by now. If Providence had ordained my Earthly work to be the holding of things, He should have, in His infinite wisdom, given me command of a fortification. Or a lady's handbag--such being how I equate the work of holding. No sir, Providence wills we fight, and we shall attack the enemy, relentlessly, tirelessly, and victoriously, this is ordained. And if your knowledge of my battle record does not bear this truth to you, then perhaps you ought spend your evening in prayer and seek the comfort and guidance that Providence provides. You will see, General Powell, that holding things is cowards work, and unfit for men of faith such as us. You are a man of faith, yes, General?"

"Well--I usually do not discuss..." General Powell trailed off, doubting the wisdom of finishing the sentence he had started. To smooth the awkward situation, General Powell tried changing the subject. "Father General," he blurted, "I mean, General Neal--I'm sorry, it's just--"

"Yes, I am aware of the names the men and the papers call me. It does not offend me. I have been called many things, but so long as I am also called a faithful servant of Providence, I care not what other titles men concoct for me." General Powell knew at that instant the man he was tasked to work with was quite insane. "So, what were you trying to say, General Powell?"

General Powell cleared his throat and continued. "I have on good authority that our forces combined matches closely with that of the enemy."

Again, the Father General heightened the atmosphere of madness. "Is this supposed to cheer me? Bring hope to my men? My men know they will win, even be they outnumbered ten to one. They are as the Israelites be before the Philistines. 'And nothing can hinder the Lord from saving whether by many or by few.' That is the Book of Samuel, sir. And you may place all your faith in it; that this attack we shortly make will repulse the enemy host! And I dare him to bring all his corps afield, and to align them proper, and to set his guns in prepared positions. Give him the best rifles, and ammunition and rations to last until Armageddon, and yet my humble division shall carry the field and put him to flight. For whatever ground he occupies, our is always higher, for Providence is the high ground, and the Angelic Host is our reinforcement, and what foe can stand against that? Can you name nary a one?"

Actually, General Powell could perhaps have named more than a few, but he held his tongue.

"So, when they appear, my formations will advance. I invite you to come forward quickly with us, lest all the glory of battle be dispelled before you can bring your division up. Now, General, are you equal to this task?"

By this moment, General Powell had enough. There was no order subordinating him to this officer, this zealous madman, but he knew he had to act in tandem, lest this bombastic preacher lead his division uselessly to disaster.

"General Neal, I think you will be pleased with our discipline and alacrity in battle."

"Very well, General Powell, this is all I ask of the soldiers I work with. I look forward to the moment of battle. No, I have no love of the fight, but have every loyalty to Providence, and it is ordained that we shall fight the enemy and earn our freedom. It is a privilege we have to be here, General. I cannot imagine what the history books will say, but I do know what Providence will say when our duty is done."

General Powell had to fight back the temptation to ask just what that would be, and sat in his saddle as straight as he could without laughing or crying. Then the Father General surprised him by extending his hand. General Powell shook hands with him anyway, having never shook hands with a madman before, and that was how the two Generals were acquainted.

[Little Powell]

Sir, my red battle shirt is starting to gather dust.. It has been too long since I have tasted battle, and I'm ready for anything those blue bellies can throw at us.

Very well written, thanks for posting.

Let's get those sign-ups for Tournament 2.