Tear In Time

by Petersen, Christopher David

  David shot Pvt. Albert a reassuring smile, then replied to Dr. Rogers, "Doctor, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. As long as we clean the wound thoroughly, I’m sure I can repair his arm and avoid any lasting effects from infection.” Looking back at the young private, he continued, “Besides, I’m sure this young man is anxious to get back to his company so he can whoop them Rebs,” David finished, now repeating back the familiar mantra of the day.

  David expected to see the young private’s face light up with pride as so many others had done before him, but instead he saw a saddened and sorrowful expression that reflected a deeper conflict within.

  Pressing the young private, David asked, “Private, is something else bothering you?”

  “Sir, I’m worried about my company. They was having a rough time of it before I left,” Pvt. Sullivan replied.

  “I’m sure they’ll be ok. By all accounts, you guys are doing a great job at pushing them off the field,” David said, relating his previous reports.

  Pvt. Sullivan stood motionless for a moment, trying to make sense of David’s statement. Unsure of David’s previous reports, he decided to press him a bit for information.

  “Sir, begging your pardon, but do you remember how long ago you heard these accounts?” Pvt. Sullivan asked with respect.

  “I’ve been hearing them all morning, the last one just about an hour ago. Has something happened? Is there something wrong, private?” David asked with great concern.

  “Sir, I was with the other boys of my company about two hours ago. We was charging them Rebs on the right, pushing them back as you just said. For a while, we found a good breastwork to shoot behind. We was really whooping them Rebs for certain. I remember reloading so fast, at times I was almost getting off about four rounds a minute. Even the sergeant told me to keep up the good work. As we pushed them back toward Cedar Hill, they was a bit too far for accuracy, so we moved forward, reloading and firing as we marched. We was really whooping them something awful, and they was falling faster than I could reload. I found another breastwork behind a big ole rock and began to take more careful aim, like they learned me in my training,” Pvt Sullivan said.

  David watched the enthusiasm from the young private as he recounted the battle. With one eye closed and the other half open, he pretended to squint down the barrel, acting out his technique in firing his weapon.

  “As I was shooting them rats, I remember seeing a Reb officer on a horse riding like the wind, down from a little hill. I took careful aim at him, but he was just too far away – I missed. When he finally stopped, he leaned over his horse to speak to another officer that was on foot, and all of a sudden I saw that officer fall over backwards. One of our boys must have got him,” Pvt. Sullivan said, wincing in pain as he smiled.

  “Oh my God, what happened next?” David asked, shocked once again by the graphic violence of war.

  “Well, sir, that officer must have been madder than two angry bears a-tangling, cause I sees him fussing with his sword - only it must have got stuck in the scabbard, ’cause he couldn’t get it out. The danged fool in a fit of rage just tore it from his side and lifted it above his head, knocking his hat off. I guess he really liked that hat ’cause he jumped down off his horse and picked it up, dusted it off, and got back up on his horse again. Once again, he threw his sword up in the air, still in that silly scabbard, and spurred his horse to charge forward at us,” Pvt. Sullivan said, lowering his arm as if he himself were leading a charge.

  “Incredible!” David exclaimed, amazed by the officer’s bravery. “Did anyone shoot him? I mean, surely a single man on a horse must have made an irresistible target, right?”

  “Well, sir, he must have been luckier than on fly on a bull’s ass, pardon my profanity, ’cause no one was able to touch him. It was like the Lord himself was protecting Stonewall,” Pvt. Sullivan replied.

  “Stonewall Jackson? He was the officer charging on the horse?” David asked incredulously.

  “Yes, sir. He charged with that ugly scabbard above his head, hollering out an awful rebel yell. I took careful aim at him just to quiet him, but I must have missed, ’cause he kept right on charging the front lines, leaping over dead bodies, weaving back and forth like he was dodging bullets,” Pvt. Sullivan said shaking his head in disbelief. “When he got to the very front, I couldn’t hear what he was saying to his men, but one thing’s for certain: they was mad as hornets, ’cause they all stopped their cowardly running and began to charge us again. They was like a big angry wave in the ocean. I couldn’t even get off a shot from behind that big ole rock. The air was just too thick with lead.”

  “Is that when you were wounded?” David asked, now intently focused.

  “Not right away, sir. I could see they was overrunning us, and I had no chance of firing on them, so I tried to use the rock as cover to crawl away on my belly. I scrambled along for quite a ways, using whatever cover I could to avoid the ball, but their volleys were too heavy. As I was pulling myself out of a tiny ditch, they got me. The pain was awful, even worse than now, and I thought I would die, but I knew if I stayed there I surely would die, so I jumped up and ran as fast as I could. It seemed the faster I ran, the more the fellas was dropping all around me. Pretty soon there was no one in front of me as I was running across the field, ’cept for some of the wounded at the far edge of the wood line. I turned around for just a moment, long enough to see that damned Stonewall Jackson hollering to his men to keep up the charging, and they was, fighting even harder and stronger than before,” Pvt. Sullivan said, his face now showing signs of fright.

  “We stopped them though, right? Just like before, our boys must have repelled their counterattack. We’re not still being overrun, are we?” David asked in rapid succession, his face now openly displaying his concern.

  Pvt. Sullivan didn’t answer. Dr. Weiss and Dr. Rogers both stopped what they were doing and waited on the young private’s next word. As the pressure to respond intensified, Pvt. Sullivan frantically searched his mind for the right response.

  “Out with it man,” Dr. Rogers demanded, fear now causing him to lose patience. “Are we in danger or aren’t we?”

  “Yes sir,” Pvt. Sullivan blurted out.

  “Yes sir, what? Yes sir, we’re in danger? Yes sir, we’re not in danger? Which is it?” Dr. Rogers demanded once more.

  “Yes, sir, we are in danger,” Pvt. Sullivan said to a visibly shocked Dr. Rogers. “Just before I was taken away, I last saw the whole front line collapsing. I suspect our boys are being driven off the field.”

  “My God. They could be coming down the road as we speak,” Dr. Weiss said, fear and anxiety now spreading across his face. “Maybe we should evacuate this place immediately, before it's too late.”

  “Let's not lose our heads, doctors. We have a job to do, and men counting on us to save them. The thought of dying or being taken prisoner is pretty scary to me too, but we can't just turn and run at the first sign of trouble,” David said, expressing his opinion. “Besides, we aren’t at liberty to make that decision, and I do believe the army takes a dim view of soldiers that leave their post. So for now, all we can do is save these boys’ lives, and hope we have some advanced warning if the worst does happen.”

  Dr. Weiss and Dr. Rogers regained their composure and nodded to David in understanding. Almost imperceptible, David caught a slight shift in the young private's eyes. Turning in that direction, David saw Dr. Morgan standing in the doorway of the next room.

  “Impeccable logic, lad,” Dr. Morgan said. “We have a duty to the young men that are fighting this war. We will not desert them at their darkest hour. If we are overrun, it will be by our own men first, in quick retreat. If that happens, we will retreat with them and take the wounded with us. Keep steady, lads: you are doing a remarkable job at stemming the influx of wounded.”

  With a nod of his head in respect, he excused himself from the discussion and made his way outside to the arriving wounded.

  Turning to the
other doctors, David said, "Well, you heard the man. Shall we continue?"

  Picking up his scalpel, David smiled and continued to operate. Immediately, the two others followed David's lead and picked up where they had left off. With the ever present danger of being overrun, each man kept an eye on the front windows of the farmhouse, searching for any signs of retreat. As the ambulances wheeled into the front yard, each man struggled to stay focused on his bloody work as fear and anxiety deepened with each report from the wounded.

  Beyond the farmhouse, the densely populated forest began to show signs of life as Corp. Lewis Jafferies frantically dodged tree limbs and brush. Leaping over stone walls, and hurtling over small streams and minor depressions, he negotiated his way through the old growth of oak trees, as he loaded his rifle on the run. With anxiety feeding his fear, he moved solely by instinct as he ran from impending death.

  Just a few steps behind him was Corp. Jafferies’ platoon of battle-worn men. Scared and near exhaustion, they too operated on instinct as they followed him, as if connected by cord. Still further behind them, the shouts of many more men in retreat could be heard in the distance.

  Corp. Jafferies broke into the clearing in front of the farmhouse. Out of breath and his mind racing, he paused a moment to gain his bearings while his men caught up. Scanning the landscape in front of him, a sense of overwhelming desperation overcame him as he mentally counted out the hundreds of wounded soldiers that waited their turn for treatment while the hot sun bore down on them mercilessly, baking them in their uniforms and drying blood quickly as it flowed from their wounds.

  Evading capture while in retreat was difficult enough. Evading capture while evacuating the wounded seemed an impossible task. As his platoon entered the field and stood beside him, any relief they felt from surviving the battle now appeared as a distant memory, as capture now seemed a real possibility.

  “Corp. Jafferies, Johnny Reb is on our tail. What's going to happen to all these men?” a young private asked. “Surely we can't take ’em all with us.” Pvt Carrington asked.

  “We ain’t. At least, not yet,” Corp. Jafferies replied. Quickly, he divided his men into two groups and shouted out new orders. “You men go to the back of the farmhouse and build some breastworks as quickly as you can. You others start to help those of the wounded that can walk to the other side of the farmhouse out of the line of fire. Give ’em rifles, pistols, or even rocks to throw. If they can walk, they can shoot. Any effort will help.”

  “Corp. Jafferies, we'll be overrun by Johnny Reb shortly. We can't possibly get all these men hid by the time the fightin' starts,” Pvt. Carrington blurted out in reaction.

  “That is a fact, private, but we ain’t just handin' em over for capture either. They're going to have to take 'em from us. Besides, once the other companies see our efforts, they'll join us in defending these wounded men. With a few good volleys across this field, we might just change Johnny Reb’s mind about chasing us any further.”

  From inside the farmhouse, David and the other doctors worked on their patients while keeping a watch on the tree line. As Corp Jafferies emerged, Dr. Rogers was the first to notice the harried soldier as he stood at the edge of the open field and rested.

  “Dr. Warner, I see one. I see a soldier at the edge of the field. We're being overrun,” Dr Rogers shouted out in fear.

  Quickly, David and Dr. Weiss spun around and looked out the window. The sight sent chills through David’s body as he confirmed Dr. Rogers’ observation. As fear set in, his mind began to react with irrational thoughts. Slipping further into paranoia and delusion, he caught the telltale signs of hysteria before he reacted out of control. Pulling his mind back from that dangerous state, he regained control of himself and began to think about their situation logically.

  “Doctors, those are our boys. By the looks of things, they’re helping the wounded. We'll have to finish here quickly and help them evacuate as many as we can,” David said, the tone of his voice showing the strain of the situation. He then turned to Dr. Weiss and continued, “Doctor, can you close this man's arm?”

  “Yes, doctor. Where are you going?” Dr. Weiss asked, the fear projecting from his eyes.

  “Don't worry. Dr. Rogers and I are going out to help move the wounded. When you're done closing here, I'll need you and a few others to pack up our supplies. Do you think you can do that for me?” David ordered with respect, then added, “Don't worry; you'll be alright. We have time to get away if things unravel before we're done.”

  “Yes sir,” Dr. Weiss replied simply. Turning back to his work, he nervously watched as the other two doctors exited.

  David and Dr. Rogers moved swiftly through the front doorway and watched as more Union soldiers stepped out of the woods. In amazed fascination, the two watched as an endless sea of dirty and bedraggled soldiers flowed out of the woods. Even at their distance from the farmhouse, David could hear the commanding officers call out the orders to evacuate the wounded. David felt his inexperience beginning to surface as he searched his mind for his next move. With fear and anxiety confusing his logic, he stood momentarily paralyzed, unable to think and unable to speak.

  “Enjoying the view, lads?” Dr. Morgan called out from behind the two on the porch.

  Quickly, both spun around, startled by the old doctor’s sudden appearance.

  “Ah, ah, no, sir,” Dr. Weiss stammered as he searched his mind for an excuse. “We were on our way to help evacuate the wounded. Sir, there are so many of them. What are we going to do?”

  “Move them out one at a time, lad. That's all we can do,” Dr. Morgan replied. “Load as many as you can into the ambulances, then move the rest as far as you can behind the farmhouse. I suspect our boys will establish a skirmish line from behind this house as we try to evacuate everyone.”

  “How do you know they'll do that, sir?” Dr. Weiss asked.

  “It's what I'd do, lad.” Dr. Morgan responded. “Now, let's start with the boys closest to us. Move the ones with the minor wounds first.”

  “Dr. Morgan, what will happen if we can't get the wounded off the field before the Confederates appear?” David asked apprehensively.

  “I suspect they'll all be taken prisoner,” Dr. Morgan replied bluntly. He looked into David’s eyes and could almost feel his sadness. “I'm sorry, lad: there's only so much we can accomplish in such a short period of time. Time is our enemy.”

  David shook his head in acknowledgment. The three turned and hurried off the porch, and began their race against time. One by one, they helped any of the wounded who could walk to the rear of the farmhouse and beyond. The cries of pain and agony were deafening as their open and bleeding wounds suffered from the constant aggravating movements. Within minutes, word of retreat spread quickly through those who were conscious, creating throngs of frightened humanity racing for safety.

  While large detachments of soldiers helped the wounded from certain capture, other detachments moved old farm wagons, logs, and boulders to the quickly forming skirmish line. Spread far out from each side of the farmhouse, the breastworks were barely high enough to offer much protection. The unlucky few who could not find shelter behind a solid structure searched for natural depressions across the open field to help hide them from the enemy’s full view. In a relatively short time, the gentle, picturesque land was transformed into a twisted and contorted scene that cut across the open field like an angry scar.

  Any man who could hold a weapon, whether healthy or wounded, clung to his rifle as they prepared their last stand. Staring down their sights to the far side of the battlefield, they watched a small detachment of soldiers as they continued to evacuate the wounded.

  David had just laid a wounded man down by his comrades, and was quickly approaching from behind the skirmish line when he heard the first shot. Instinctively flinching, he scanned the far tree line for the enemy but saw only the blue-coated wounded laying at the distant end of the field.

  As time seemed to slow, David again heard
a loud crack from a rifle. Slowly and deliberately, he watched as the far-off wounded fought through their pain and began to crawl away from the tell-tale sound.

  Again, David heard another rifle discharge: but this time it was much closer. He scanned the skirmish line in front of him and immediately saw a cloud of heavy smoke, and an impetuous private hiding behind a makeshift wall of stone, reloading his rifle.

  “Hold your fire,” David yelled out, startling himself by his own authoritative tone. More out of logic than from rank, he continued, “What the hell are you firing at? Wait ’til you see them at least.” Turning to the sergeant in charge up the line, he called out another order.

  “Sergeants, tell your men to fire on my command. Place your fastest shooters behind these well-protected rocks. Have them line up cap, ball and powder in front of them. I want them to be able to shoot as fast as they can shoot accurately,” David ordered.

  “Yes sir,” the sergeants immediately replied. As they quickly reorganized their part of the skirmish line, David picked up a spare rifle and loaded it beside the men now waiting his orders.