History/Fiction/Character/Narration
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US South)Transcript
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The general's jaws were clenched, his bony fists were clenched, his whip cord body was clenched. He seemed ready to jump right out of his uniform and start pummeling the officer who was facing him. Answer me, blast you, Jackson bellowed shriek rather since he had a high pitched voice. The general thrust his head forward so aggressively his chin leading the way like the ram on an ancient war galley, that his fancy hat fell right off his head. The two cornered generals hat landed on its side like a shipwreck on a reef. Jackson paid no attention to the mishap. The officer who was facing him. Somebody in the Tennessee militia, judging from the uniform, was doing his level best not to wilt under Jackson's fury, but his level best wasn't good enough. Not even close. The man settled backwards. Step, his eyes avoiding Jackson's accusing gaze. Tarnation General he murdered. You can't just. Yes, sir, I can. And yes, I most certainly will. I've done it before and I'll do it again for the first time. Jackson seemed to catch sight of the two officers who had entered his command tent. He glared at General John Coffee 1st, but the Glare was fleeting. Nothing more than a split seconds. Reflex coffee! He stated tersely. The greeting had an approving air to it from what Sam could tell, but then the glare turned on Sam himself, so he didn't have any time to ponder the matter. It was quite a glare too easily worthy of one of the heroes in Sam's treasured. Iliad. Maybe not quite up to the standards of achilles, but certainly the equal of anything Agamemnon or Menelaus could have managed and use the general barked. You're wearing the uniform of a regular soldier in the Army of the United States of America. Can I assume that you will follow orders? The general's eyes flicked to the militia. Officer Jackson said nothing, but the glance alone was enough to make clear what he thought of. The fellow. Sam might have been amused, except he was starting to become angry himself. He didn't like bullies, never had, and the general looked to be about as bad a bully as he'd ever encountered. Yes, sir, he said, Stiffly, straightening up to his full height of six ft 2. I took the oath, and I'll obey orders, presuming the orders are lawful. That is with that. He fell silent for a moment. It looked to Sam as if the general would literally explode. His pale face seemed so suffused with blood and fury that his temples threatened to burst. Both of them were throbbing. Now then, to sam surprise! The general grunted a little laugh. Got some backbone to you. Good Jackson pointed a stiff finger at the target of his rage. The issue in question. Here, young Anson is whether or not these miserable militia men will be allowed to dessert their country in its time of need. I have informed this this, this individual that I will have shot any militiaman who attempts to dessert