The captured combatant stood silent before Joe on the edge of the most badly damaged, crumbling section of wall of Nova Durrin. The POW was silent, staring off into the distance, towards the now empty Confederacy siege camp. All the soldiers has moved into the castle after their victory. Joe heard the dull rumble of conversation and the clanking and banging sounds of the recently captured fief behind him. He didn't turn to look, though. His eyes were fixed on the rump of the Eastern Warhorse. The horse maintained airs of pride, despite having lost everything. It was cute. Joe poked the enemy's rump with his sword. "You'll answer for your crimes, dog," he said.
The Eastern Warhorse didn't look back. His ears pricked up, though.
"Two hundred and sixty one good American sailors dead," Joe tried, testing, poking, looking for signs of remorse. "And you hadn't the decency to declare war first." Joe had lost friends in that fateful explosion, all those years ago. He'd swam down, deep into the bay, to recover some of the bodies. Immortality had its advantages. Of course, it was also responsible for his being here, now, all those years later, still remembering the loss.
The horse, still looking off the wall, said something in a quiet voice.
Joe didn't understand, and didn't care, "CEASE YOUR MOONSPEAK, SPANISH DEVIL!"
Some Confederacy men, standing on an adjacent wall, glanced over.
Joe ignored their attention. He was angry. The fiend standing before him felt no remorse, and hadn't the decency to use proper, 'Murrican English. But, Joe had expected this. He hadn't really brought this horse up here to just ask him questions. No, no--he was going to make the animal pay for it's crimes. Affiliation with murderers of the past was self-damnation. In the days of old, gods would punish mortals for smaller things. Joe remembered, and continued the tradition with gusto.
He grabbed the horse's hind legs. "YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS!" Joe screamed. The horse's legs tried to push against him, but he held firm. It tried to back up, but Joe was too close.
He knew how cav worked.
Joe planted his feet. "HELL! HELL WITH SPAIN!" he cried, twisting, jerking around on the spot. He flung the horse like a discus over the crenellations. The animal flopped over the wall and soared a few yards before landing in a dead heap at the foot of Durrin's walls.
Joe turned around, his passions incited by this recent violence. Inside the castle courtyard, and along the walls, Confederacy men and mercenaries had stopped to stare at him. Artyem appeared from inside the keep, wearing golden robe and clutching fistfuls of gold coins. He was escorted by THE GOBBLIN KING, who was laughing and pointing up at Joe.
Now was Joe's chance.
He shouted inwards towards the gathering soldiers and servants. "Men!" he cried, "The Spanish dogs are defeated! The Maine's destruction has been avenged!"
One or two men clapped. Somebody whistled at him.
"Yes! A great victory, but it is not enough! This castle, stuffed with men like a butt-hole stuffed with men--or marbles..." Thoughts of butt-holes distracted him, but he needed to stay on topic. "This castle was just a foot-hold forgotten about by the Spaniards! We must take the fight to them--go to Europe--cross the great divide!" Joe was getting excited. He removed his clothes. "I exhort you, men of AMERICA! Take the fight to Europe, home of Spaniards, and finally avenge the great injustice! Open the gates of freedom!"
Somebody echoed his cry. Soon the castle roared with cries of, "Open the gate! Open the gate!" The world seemed to shake with the cry, and Joe saw all that green and smiled.
