Free Echoes of Dark and Light by Chris Shanley-Dillman Page A

interrupted.
    “Beg your pardon?”
    He spoke sarcastically slow, emphasizing each syllable. “What size Kepi do you wear?”
    Ignoring his tone, I grappled for an answer.
What the heck is a Kepi?
I sent him a blank look with a shrug.
    “Your hat size,” he retorted, rolling his eyes and looking bored.
    “Oh, um, here.” I handed him the grimy, well-worn cap from my head.
    He hesitated before taking the edge with a disdainful thumb and forefinger. With a sigh, he ducked into the back of the supply wagon with a glowing lantern.
    We waited in a simmering silence with the sounds of the camp murmuring around us. I avoided Private Dove’s eyes, as I knew that the slightest spark would ignite a huge flaming fight. I would have time enough later to prove myself. Better to just avoid anything flammable for the moment.
    The supply clerk reappeared carrying an armload of items, which he dumped at my feet. Then he handed me a dark blue cap with a gold bugle pattern on top. “Here, try this.”
    “The bugle emblem classifies you as infantry,” Private Dove informed me. “The cavalry has crossed sabers on their caps, and artillery has crossed cannons.”
    I nodded stiffly, grateful for the information, but not yet ready to drop my grumpy mood. Then I noticed Thomas eyeing me up and down, and my muscles snapped to attention, instantly on alert.
Does he suspect?
    However, Thomas didn’t say anything. Instead he picked through the pile of garments, pulling out a pair of dark blue trousers that looked as if they would fit perfectly. I blew out my held breath; he didn’t suspect, he was just doing his job. Next Thomas tossed me a single-breasted shirt with nine small, shiny buttons lined down the front. Quickly following flew a four-button fatigue jacket, and then a pair of black, low-heeled boots narrowly missed my face.
    “Oh, I don’t need these,” I said, trying to return the boots to the supply clerk. “I already have shoes—” I felt a hand on my arm.
    “Small piece of advice,” Private Dove leaned in close to whisper. “Take the boots.”
    “But mine have lots of wear left.”
    He shook his head. “Listen, we’ve heard rumors that armies are running low of supplies, especially the Rebs. Some guys even have to go barefoot. Can you imagine, with winter coming? Take the boots and tuck them down in your pack. It’s added weight to carry, but worth every ounce. You might need them later.”
    I nodded, trying to imagine spending a winter back home in the deep, drifting snows and bitter cold temps without shoes. I shuddered at the thought and tucked the boots under my arm. I knew winters down south would be tamer than back home, but still not something I wanted to experience shoeless.
    “Hmm,” Thomas muttered under his breath as he dropped the lid on a crate. “Seems we’re out of knapsacks.”
    I glanced at Private Dove who raised a knowing eyebrow. Maybe he did know a thing or two about army life.
    “That’s okay,” I told Thomas, “I already have one.”
    “Good, ‘cause you ain’t getting one from me tonight. Okay, here’s your haversack.” He tossed me a foot square, tar coated bag with a shoulder strap. “That’s for your vittles and utensils. Now, as for your skivvies, socks, and shaver, you’re responsible for that stuff. You can get most of it from the sutlers, or merchants, who travel along behind the army.”
    Next he handed me a .58 caliber Springfield muzzle loading rifle, a box of cartridges and caps, and a bayonet. Then he brushed his hands together as if dusting off any responsibilities he may have had with me. “There, you’re all set. Now if you don’t mind, my dinner’s getting cold.”
    I watched Thomas disappear around the wagons and then turned back to Private Dove.
    He shrugged. “Personal warmth isn’t one of his strong suits.”
    I nodded absently, and then had to jog in order to catch up with the private as he took off in yet another direction.
    He turned his head and