1863

The road has been arduous, it has been more difficult than Mathew and his father could have envisioned those many months ago when they took their freedom and sowed revolution against their white masters, only to come to the North and feel invisible shackles placed on them again. He stood there silent and rigid as two white officers bickered back and forth over the conduct and behavior of Brodus and his men over the last year since unofficially joining the Union Army in Kentucky. He was physically there in that brick building but his thoughts carried him far away across the battlefields and war zones he had taken part in and lost so many of his men at. The sting of losing his father after ambushing a Confederate convoy was hard to shake, he didn't get to hold him in his arms, say goodbye to him or thank him for the man he has become. His father was shot in the head as they began their assault and Mathew went on a vengeful, bloody, barrage over the next couple months ruthlessly executing, dismembering and torturing any of these Southern men they engaged in battle. He finally was able to snap out of that trance that almost cost him the loyalty of his men when he had a nightmare with his father telling him he is becoming like the white men he has grown to hate. Since then, during the remainder of 1862, Brodus has led very successful strikes and counter strikes against much larger confederate forces then he had himself. It is due to these victories that he finds himself in this shabby building being reprimanded by his superiors. The Lieutenant General William Jones is fielding criticism against Brodus and his men by Colonel Robert Smith over the disregard for what he feels is the colored persons proper role in this war.

"We should not be using these mindless savages, with their devilish tactics and reports of how these Nig..." Col. Smith is interrupted by the calm and calculating Lt. General Jones with a raise of his hand and he knows he has crossed the line. The General peers over at Brodus, who has not moved a muscle, and can see the angst and disgust written across his face. General Jones explains that Brodus has been very successful in attacking supplies for the Confederates and with General Lee pushing North, and winning, they should be using any assets available to them. It is here at Camp William Penn, just outside Philadelphia, that General Jones is wanting to train and enlist colored men for the Union Army or they may very well lose the war. Col. Smith protests his doubts about coloreds being able to fight against the Confederates especially since President Lincolns' Emancipation Proclamation a few weeks earlier on January first. President of the South, Jefferson Davis, had lashed back stating that black soldiers would be sold as slaves and the white officers that led them would be hung. This was the main problem Col. Smith had with training these black soldiers was the inevitability of them losing and having good white officers treated like escaped slaves. Brodus remained patient and calm as they finished their argument with Col. Smith storming out of the room, upset and threatening to leave the base to head south to Philadelphia. General Jones asked what Mathew thought about being led by white officers if he was able to help train other black soldiers.

"Honestly sir, I have been as successful and led my men as far as I have because I was leading them. I am not saying I would not follow a white officer if that is your order, but I am a capable leader in my actions thus far, and my men respond to that. If my skin was white I would undoubtedly be your officer."

"It isn't that hard to understand your feelings and emotions with this matter. However, this is the Union Army and we are bound by orders from those serving above ourselves, white men at that. If I was given full discretion at this training facility I would still very unlikely let a whole regiment of Negroes unsupervised by any white officer at all, now more than ever we need to be united."

"I understand sir." Mathew swallows hard, he knows this General to be a fair man and not as close minded as most of the other officers he has been in contact with since fleeing the South. But the amount of distrust even a man such as he has for black soldiers is the root of the problem as Mathew sees it. There are no black men in power, either politically or militarily, to support or defend him. The best thing Mathew can do is follow his orders to the best of his abilities and begin working on a plan of action once this war is over and won.

Mathew quickly makes his way across the field to his tent to begin plans to recruit and train black men even with the disapproving and manipulating Col. Smith supposedly the leader of this operation. He knows how this man thinks and feels about blacks and he is not naive to think he won't try to destabilize or sabotage this training program one way or another. He lets out a loud long sigh, having to train his people to fight for a country that doesn't deem them citizens against a country that wants to enslave them, the bad decision or a worse one. On top of that he will have to deal with people like this Col. Smith while training and fighting this war as well as when the war is over and he moves to have his people strive for not only freedom but equality. He has no political allies and from reading in the last few months waiting for the bureaucracy to work its way out in training blacks, he knows full well that in America political power is on par with, if not surpassing, military might. Even with all these odds against him he lays back on his cot for a few moments of rest and lets a smile spread across his face, he knows what his father would tell him right now, he knows that having something handed to you is not the same as fighting for it, he would tell him that is what makes a man a man.

Col. Smith is pacing and cursing in his tent as his assistant SSG(Staff Sergeant) Franks stands patiently with a handful of ledgers and documents. Smith is fuming and outraged that he is being commanded to train and lead these blacks to what he assumes would be his own death.

"These fucking mindless niggers are no better than farm animals, what do they want me to do next train pigs and horses to run through the battlefield?" he asks out loud rhetorically. SSG Franks doesn't interject or agree he just stands there patiently awaiting orders. After more pacing and ranting Col. Smith sits at his table and begins picking through the documents being handled by SSG Franks.

"What in hell is this?" Col. Smith asks as he reads a declaration.

"That is the newest orders for recruiting colored men for our training camp sir."

"So they want me to travel around where these fucking monkeys breed and deprave one another to find soldiers? No, I will not do this."

"Sir, we could assign this matter to Brodus and let him deal with his own people's devilish ways." Smith agrees with a nod and gestures for his assistant to personally take care of it and he slumps in his chair and closes his eyes.

Mathew Brodus had been promoted to sergeant at the end of last year in recognition for his many victories against Confederate forces. However, when in the company of his regular men they would address him as sir, just as any white officer was designated. He was in his meeting tent with his most trusted men fielding questions and dictating training tactics that needed to be implemented before the flood of recruits begin to fill the camp. The 23 men, presently in the tent, have been with Brodus through most of the battles in the last year and even 7 of them originated on the same plantation and followed him in that revolt with the same ferocity that they follow him with now. Brodus stands at the head of a table filled with drawings and letters of different training tactics and plans. He is listening to William Stone talk about the importance of hand to hand training with their rifle and bayonet attached. Stone has been with Brodus before he crossed into Union territory belonging to one of the last plantations that they had freed. Since his father's death, Brodus, has counted on Stone and his insight with strategy and training. Stone was planning his own revolt on his plantation at the same time Mathew and his father were but he lacked the leadership to carry out his plans. He was betrayed by one of his fellow slaves to his master, with the hopes he would be rewarded, when he was putting together a plan to escape and journey North. It was the day before Brodus and his men came that he was savagely beaten and left to die in their sleeping area. He regained enough of his strength the next evening to help with the insurrection, and unknown to even Brodus had repaid the disloyalty of that fellow slave by choking the life out of him amongst the chaos.

"Sir, I understand the need to line up our boys and practice shooting to help accuracy and reload times, but I also know in most of the battles we have fought most of the men that have fallen before us did so within hugging distance. Therefore, I believe for it to be paramount that we spend as much time, if not more, training in close combat tactics if we are to be successful." William Stone says, he is able to dictate his message and opinion in a very clear and concise manner that everyone can understand.

"Very well, we shall incorporate this into our training. I also think we should think of training our men to adapt to different situations, whether the enemy has more men or not, whether they hold the high ground or a fortified position or not, and based on the terrain and land we are fighting in. There will be swampy lands and forests throughout the South that we will have to contend with." Brodus commands, with his words uttered there is a chorus of agreement among his men with silent nods. Just then a large black soldier enters the tent.

"Hey boss there is a white man outside that wants to talk, Fran or Frank something like that. Tiny little guy." This lumbering brute named Tyrone bellows in a deep throaty voice that startles any not used to his presence.

"Ok men, meeting adjourned for now we will discuss more at 0600 tomorrow morning." Brodus waits until all his men have left and he begins to organize his paperwork as SSG Franks enters his tent clutching some paperwork tightly against his chest. He Looks more pale than usual and was likely intimidated by Tyrone and his older brother's stature. "How may I assist you Sergeant Franks?"

"Col. Smith has delegated to you the responsibility of procuring and signing up any eligible Negroes in the surrounding areas of Philadelphia." His voice is shallow and he is physically shaking ever so slightly.

"Come sit down, would you like a drink?" Brodus can see his nerves are shot and wants to get a better gauge of not only his intentions and motives but perhaps even find a way to eliminate Col. Smith as a threat.

"Thank you, here are the orders from Col. Smith for you and your men to carry out." Franks chugs his cup of whisky that was presented to him as Brodus sips from his.

"OK." Brodus simply states after reading over the order that he can clearly see was designated for Col. Smith to carry out and no doubt has several reservations about entering a predominantly free black area of a city. He gives a warm and gentle smile and nod to SSG Franks whom seems more relaxed and calm as he returns the nod and scurries out of the tent.

"You two really put a scare on that men." Brodus says looking down at his new orders.

"How do you do that? We didn't make a sound." Maurice Franklin, older brother of Tyrone, says with his brother at his side.

These two brothers have been nothing but trouble for their masters on a plantation in South Carolina with their constant fighting and trouble making, let alone the amount of food these two would choke down in a day. Even with all these headaches they were kept because of their ability to physically do what would take six normal slaves each. They were beat constantly with smiles on their faces never uttering a single audible sound of pain. It was in their early twenties that they finally stopped growing. The two of them were 6' 4" and 6' 5" respectively weighing around 340 and 360 pounds each. The younger one Tyrone was larger than his older brother and had a much shorter temper. The Great Uprising is what they named Brodus and his bold revolt at his plantation and the subsequent plantations after that. The word of his valor and courage spread across from slave farms to plantations across the South. Initially when they heard about these events they assumed they were likely greatly exaggerated but then they began to hear about his successful campaigns against the Southern forces. After this news had came their way they simply looked at each other and let out a very loud thunderous laughter. They wanted to meet this man, they had seen no men, white or black, as large as they were, and if this man was accomplishing all of this then he must be enormous. Their revolt wasn't flashy or subtle, it wasn't planned out or handled with grace. It was brutal and reckless with lots of massive blows delivered to these white men that held them in captivity. They beat to death their master, his two older sons, and the twelve enforcers hired to contain and discipline the slaves. After it was all said and done Maurice was shot in the side and both of them had taken several attacks with Maurice suffering the most critical slash across the right side of his face. Even with all the blood saturating their clothes, most of it belonging to their foes, they began to trek to Kentucky where they last heard this Brodus was staging attacks from. They left behind the awestruck slaves and young white children and women unharmed as they disappeared in the sunset.

Making their way to Kentucky was not without difficulty. Neither of them could read or write. They just headed toward what they knew was Northwest and beat information out of anyone that tried to detain them. The troop movements had given them a small inconvenience of not being able to travel on roads by carriage or any other such means. They ransacked stores and houses for food, they were not typical aggressors and would likely leave people alone unless they were pursued or attacked. They never hurt women and children as part of their own little code of honor. Once they made it through most of Tennessee they were captured by Confederate soldiers and they tried to hang Tyrone but he broke the rope as he laid on the ground laughing with the noose still around his neck. The soldiers readied their rifles and put them against a large tree that would barely serve to shield one of them, but before they could fire their camp was attacked by a black guerilla force that had been notorious for defeating much larger forces then they possessed. They skillfully took out the officers and commanders with sniper shots and flanked formations simultaneously with a fierce frontal assault that quickly overwhelmed most of these units that received very little training. A tall but skinny man led them and after the remaining soldiers dropped their weapons and put their hands in the air he walked over to the two burly brothers against the trees. He wore a cloth over his face covering everything but his eyes, but his eyes were full of intensity and power.

"There you go." Mathew Brodus says to Tyrone as he cuts off the noose still tightly clinging to his neck. "My name is Mathew Brodus, you guys are free to do as you please."

After saying his name one of the white soldiers closest to him with his hands in the air quickly grabbed his rifle with bayonet attached and lunged at Mathew's unprotected back. Tyrone had just sat down to catch his breath but quickly shot to his feet, but he was too late. Maurice had broken free from the rope bonds that bound his hands and pushed easily aside Brodus and deflected the rifle with his left hand and with his full force hammer fist the top of the confederate soldier's head with a loud crunch and he fell back lifelessly around ten feet. Maurice looks over to his brother and they both eyeball this Brodus who landed with catlike reflexes after being shoved over by the lumbering brute.

"We can't follow this man brother, he is too weak." Maurice says with disappointment. His brother silently nods in agreement. The two men begin to head north to continue to free territory where they might meet someone worth of following.

"I can beat either of you in a fist fight." Brodus barely finishes this sentence before the two massive former slaves quickly turn around with a look of amusement on their face. To them they might as well have been challenged by a ten year old girl.

"OK." Maurice replies to the challenge. "First one to fall or die loses."

"Agreed." Brodus says with much angst and yells of disapproval from his men, most vocally was his right hand man William Stone. However, Mathew holds up his hand in a silencing gesture and everything is completely quiet.

The two men square off with Tyrone behind his brother and a semi-circle of Brodus' men behind their leader. Maurice is massive but he moves quicker than someone of that size should be able to. He aims a very fast and monstrous blow for the skinnier man's head. Maurice knows he is faster than people much smaller than him. He knows when he throws this hay-maker that he is going to land it. He has heard the crunch many, many times before. He has seen the life fade from their eyes just like he is about to see and hear again right now. Instead of landing this massive blow he is startled by a much faster man ducking under his fist and getting as close to him as is possible. Mathew is inside his guard with his head against his right shoulder and his right foot is placed behind Maurice's right heel. Maurice looks at Mathew and sees a smile slide across his face and he is violently shoved backwards tripping over his cleverly planted foot to trip him and he falls down to the ground with a loud thud. The air momentarily leaves his body and he is stunned for a few seconds. This is the first time he has ever been bested in any fight even if the odds are against him. But it was a one versus one, and this smaller man beat him with both speed and tactic. Mathew extended his hand and helped Maurice back to his feet, from that moment forward they have both pledged to guard and defend Mathew until their last breath.

"Did you two really have to scare Franks like that? He was pretty shook up."

"I did nothing boss, I came in and told you he was here Mo was outside with him." Tyrone had said.

"It's OK Ty, we all know you're the nice one, so how about it Mo what happened." Brodus said. He always referred to both of them as Ty and Mo which would have infuriated them immensely previously to him beating Maurice in a fair fight. So they accepted it.

"I just told him I've taken craps bigger than he was."

The three men enjoy a nice chuckle at the expense of poor nervous SSG Franks. They follow Brodus back to his sleeping tent which is actually a smaller tent inside a larger tent. The larger tent is the two brother's sleeping quarters. They feel better keeping him as close as possible at night when they are sleeping but Brodus refused to share his private area with them and set a tent up inside theirs which pleased both parties. The two brothers laid down in two cots wrapped together to support their massive size. Their beds laid out on opposite sides of Mathew's tent in the middle. The odds of a lone, or several for that matter, assassin penetrating their tent and making it to his was almost nil. Mathew sat quietly alone in his tent in the dark. He knew the two were fast asleep by the rhythm of their breathing and began to think about his plans for the future. He knows what he needs to do to put his people in a better place than they were before this war. He has to not only win this war, but he has to literally be the one to win the war he is afraid his people will slip into a second class citizenship like they have endured in the North prior to the war. He has a plan, he has played out everything to every detail over and over, he can't make any mistakes he has to be flawless in his execution. Step one is tomorrow, he is glad that he will personally recruit blacks, he will find a suitable force to help him achieve his goals.

The next day Brodus and his two bodyguards make their way to Philadelphia where word has spread they are going to recruit black soldiers to fight for citizenship and receive the same pay as the white man. This has energized people that prior to this seemed lethargic towards the war and its outcome. They have a large factory for their staging area to sign people up, get them standard uniforms and organize them into formations and march them to Camp William Penn to begin their training. Mathew feels good about the group of people he has recruited. After three days he has to turn away people that have traveled all around the North to be trained by the legendary Mathew Brodus. He feels he has collected the cream of the crop and believes these soldiers will help him attain the future he thinks about every night.

A month of training has gone by and there are 2300 very well trained and disciplined black troops awaiting orders to move out and show not only themselves and their people but the world what they can do. Brodus has received stiff and abrasive cooperation from Col. Smith for the direction of these troops and their training. Col. Smith has deliberately and openly delayed and obstructed their training to delay being sent into battle. He is not only afraid of being caught and hung by the Confederates, but being alone with so many blacks out in the wild he is afraid these savages will mutiny. SSG Franks has begun to divulge information to Brodus about Col. Smith and his intentions. The information so far has proved reliable and he hopes to develop a bond with Franks so he has an ally when he is out battling the Confederates. Col. Smith has also procured some unsavory blacks to tend to his matters like servants. He no doubt has promised these seedy folk riches for their loyalty. One of them a small and thin black man with shifty eyes always seems on edge when Brodus is around. He knows this man is known as Peter from the Boston area that was involved in the murder of several blacks. He was released on condition of joining the Union army and Col. Smith swiftly scooped him up alone with others. Brodus knows what he is planning, he knows Col. Smith will come for him eventually before they can be deployed, he will have to act soon. They just received word of a terrible loss at Chancellorsville even though the Union forces greatly outnumbered the Confederates.

Brodus is standing again in this shabby building while General Jones issues orders to several of the Colonels present that command their own regiments. Only one of the Colonels, besides Smith, command colored troops and all are given deployment orders to different areas to try and stave off the flood of Southern troops that are entering northern space with victory after victory. Brodus is very relieved, not only will he get to take his men into battle sooner than expected but Col. Smith will need to make a move tonight and he will be ready. The General says dismissed and the officers file out of the building with Col. Smith shaking his head as he stares at the General before leaving the building.

"We need to act tonight. Do you understand what I want?" Col. Smith says in his tent with SSG Franks and his servant Peter present. Franks looks around dubiously unaware of what is being planned and executed.

"Excuse me sir, I don't understand" Franks says nervously keeping Peter in his peripheral.

"This isn't an order for you Sergeant, I don't require your assistance anymore. You are relieved of my command. Report to the staff commander and get a new assignment." Col. Smith says coldly, he looks up to see SSG Franks unmoving. "That is all Sergeant."

"We have trained Union soldiers, regardless of color. These men will fight valiantly and I am glad I was involved in their training." Franks says with his chest puffed out the best he could manage with his tiny frame. Col. Smith just rolls his eyes unimpressed and Franks quickly leaves the tent constantly looking behind him, hoping not to catch one of Peter's daggers that he constantly sharpens and cleans blood off of. His mind is racing, what does he do? Should he tell Mathew about Col. Smith's unsavory servant. Franks detours from his tent and makes his way to the colored section where Brodus is at.

Franks tries to not be quiet so Brodus' lumbering bodyguards don't snatch the life out of him thinking he is the assassin. He begins whistling a tune he learned long before the war and tries to make as much noise with his feet and uniform as possible as he walks into the tent that contains Mathew's tent. His foot doesn't even touch the dirt inside the tent before he is snatched up by his neck with a massive hand that is as large as his whole head. He squeals and kicks the best that he can as he can feel his life drain away and his body getting limp.

"Put him down now!" Brodus commands loudly as he opens his tent completely aware of everything that happened despite being behind the folds of his tent.

"Boss I think he is the assassin he can't get close to you." Ty says as he drops the frail man like a kid would his toy.

"I'm... not... there is... assassin..?" Franks tries to tell everything he knows but he is unable to catch his breath and has a hard time speaking. "Peter will come for you." He manages to get out before collapsing to the ground. Brodus motions for Mo to get some medical assistance. Two men come with a stretcher and they quietly lift the passed out frail man and take him across the camp the medical tent.

"Peter, huh? Very well we shall be ready it will come tonight since we deploy tomorrow morning." Brodus says to his loyal bodyguards that eagerly await this attempt from a professional.

A professional indeed. Peter sneaks around the camp quietly and silently as if he was made of the wind that swirls around. He has devoted his life to attaining a set of skills that would allow him to take what he wanted and kill for money any target, any location and any time. He was also smart. He knew that if you killed white people there was a greater search for justice against the attacker. So he changed tactics early and targeted his own people for assassinations. He still stole from rich white people when he was able to move undetected, which was quite often. This is just another assignment for him, not only is he to receive a healthy bounty for this Mathew Brodus' blood on his blade but his new ally Col. Smith promises him a good position next to him as he climbs the military ladder and eventually the political one. This would be a smart move for both of them with someone of Peter's skills to handle potential enemies and keep people fearful of the both of them. He settles into the shadows near his target and calms his pulse and his nerves. He waits for his moment to strike like a coiled up rattle snake, now the timing must be just right.

There is a large boom as an explosion echoes out in the night at the tents of his soldiers quarters across the camp. Brodus springs up from his cot and out of his tent at the same time that Ty and Mo are facing their entrance next to each other alert and ready for an assault. But the attack doesn't come. Brodus knows this is likely a diversion to take away his protection and catch him tending to another matter to end his life. He is confident in his ability to fend off this would be assassin and sends Ty and Mo off to tend to the current situation in whatever way they can. They want to protest but they know that look on his face, the cold serious demeanor few ever see on the great Mathew Brodus. The large men lumber off through the tent's entrance and off to the glowing fire at the end of a row of tents. Brodus sits on his cot and relaxes himself, he can hear his father's voice piercing his calm serenity in his tent. He lays down and closes his eyes so he can picture his father as his words of wisdom fill his mind. It comes at night sometimes a vision of the future, possible outcomes based on the direction Mathew is headed, it's always his father narrating what is imminent or upcoming. It was one of these visions that he had decided to pursue this training facility in what his father's words said a training camp for you and your people so you can lead them now and after. This vision has an older Mathew dressed in a suit and tie standing rigid to champagne glasses raised in a crowd of black and white. There is a seriousness to his face, almost a sad tinge of something, but he can't quite make out what the meaning is as his father's voice fades and he tries to recall it, tries to be with his father just a little longer.

He sees the two brutes burst out of his tent and he knows his time has come. Peter assumed this great Mathew Brodus would be smart enough to know a diversion when he saw one, but he also counted on the arrogance that many men in power have when it comes to their own lives. Peter is faster and deadlier than anyone he has encountered. He moves around to the back of his tent and pulls out his sharpened knifed that could slice through flesh like butter. He pushes the tip into the canvas of the tent and slides the knife down slowly opening up a slit just large enough for him to fit his small frame in and no more. after inside he peers around in the dark and can see another tent inside this one and knows he has entered undetected. He can feel the pulse and breathing of his target just a few feet from him on the other side of another layer of tent. He quietly approaches the second inner tent like a phantom. With the same motion and same razor sharp knife he starts to cut into the tent and can see the head of his target with eyes closes laying on his cot. This will be easier than I thought, he thinks as he reaches the tip of the knife towards his throat.

Just before making contact with the skin there is a split second sound of a loud crash that is very suddenly followed by the whole side of the tent swallowing Peter and hitting him like a runaway horse. This commotion has caused Mathew to awaken from his trance and his eyes open in time to catch a glimpse of a knife held inside his tent for a split second before the knife, the hand that held it and his own tent are violently ripped off away from him in a mangled, tangled ball of destruction. He springs out of his cot and over to the mess of canvas and rope that use to be the two tents that stood here moments ago. He approaches cautiously unaware of the condition of his assassin or what ripped his tent off with the force of a cannonball. He can feel someone coming up behind him and swings around in a defensive stance to see Mo standing there grinning. Since he doesn't see Ty he knows that massive cannonball that ripped everything off, including his assassin is none other than Ty. Brodus and Mo pull off the layers of tent to uncover Ty and help him to his feet. There is a knife sticking out his shoulder that Ty didn't realize was there until he was helped up. Brodus finishes uncovering the tent material that entombed Peter the assassin. His body is mangled and deformed from its normal shape and stature. This was a horrendous, horrible way to die, and he is sure Peter deserves every agonizing millisecond of pain that he must have endure with Ty the human cannonball snatching another assassination from him and his life.