Prisoner in Time (Time travel)

by Petersen, Christopher David

  “How about we just switch sides? If we move to the North, we’ll lower our odds by twenty percent,” Geoff offered as a solution.

  “Switched sides, just like that, huh?” David said, snapping his fingers loudly for effect. “We’d have to sneak out somehow. Do you know what the army does to deserters?”

  Geoff shook his head in apprehension.

  “If you’re lucky, they’ll only whip you two-hundred times with a bullwhip, while the whole army watches. Most men die from this form of punishment because it literally tears the flesh from your body.”

  “So what are the other forms of punishment?”

  “They just outright kill you, either by hanging or firing squad.” He responded bluntly. “Geoff, you have to listen to reason on this one. You’ve done your best. No one will ever fault you for what you’ve done so far. The length you’ve gone to to save your brother is impressive by any standard, but… you have to realize that if you continue on, the likelihood of success is slim to none. Going back to the time portal is really your best and safest option.”

  Geoff thought about David’s response. Staring into the fire, he considered the logic behind it and knew David was right. As the flames kicked up, he stared at them and remembered his brother’s smiling face before the accident. Right then, he stiffened his resolve and responded.

  “I’m not going back… and you can’t make me,” he stated firmly.

  He folded his arms, sat back against the log and continued his stare into the fire.

  David thought about saying more, but knew the teen’s mind was made up and there was no turning him… for now. Still shaking his head, he murmured a few short words.

  “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  Reveille: 7:00am

  The bugler blew his horn, calling all to rise. The crisp morning air helped carry the sound across the valley, penetrating the soldier’s ears and gruffly jarring them from their sleep.

  David lifted his head slowly and stared out the front of the tent. Laying flat on his stomach, he watched the camp slowly come alive. One by one, the men rose from their tents and assembled around their fires, waiting for their coffee to brew. Most nibbled and gnawed on hardtack crackers. Those that were lucky enough to have been over-supplied with rations, ate some fruit or a piece of dried salted meat. Looking over at Geoff, he noted the teen was still sleeping.

  “Hey Geoff, we better get up,” he said, lightly rocking him with his elbow. Without an answer, he repeated the process. “Geoff, time to get up.”

  “Just a few more minutes. I’m really tired,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

  “The sergeant will be by shortly checking on us. If he catches us still in our tent, he’ll probably assign us some pretty harsh work as punishment.”

  David reached forward and began to pull himself out of the tent. Easing through his pain, he worked his knees past the opening of the tent and stood erect. He stretched in reflex to the soreness in his muscles and instantly yelped in pain from his wound.

  “Man, I’ll sure be happy when this thing heals,” he said aloud, to no one in particular.

  Looking back at Geoff, he heard a soft snoring and realized he hadn’t moved.

  “Geoff, come on, get up. I’m not joking. If they catch you sleeping, you’ll be really sorry.”

  David looked around the area. Several tents away, he saw Sgt. Cooper barking orders to his men. Quickly, David lightly kicked Geoff to wake him.

  “Dammit Geoff, here he comes. You need to get out now,” David whispered loudly into the tent, trying not to be heard by others.

  Geoff’s eyes sprung open. Fear registered across his face. Instantly, he rolled onto his knees and shuffled out of the tent. As he came to a standing position, Sgt. Cooper stopped in front of them.

  “A bit tardy ain’t ya,” he growled to Geoff.

  “Sorry Sir, I was having trouble adjusting my clothes. They’re a little large,” he responded, pretending to tuck in his loose shirt.

  The sergeant eyed the teen with suspicion and said, “They look fine to me. I don’t tolerate no tardy fellers.”

  Before Geoff could think, the sergeant stepped forward and swatted him across the top of the head with an open hand, knocking his hat to the ground. Stunned only for a moment, Geoff quickly came to an immediate attention, snapping his arms to his side in formation.

  “Sorry Sir. It won’t happen again,” he responded, his eyes staring straight ahead.

  Surprised by the teens quick recovery, Sgt. Cooper took a step back and nodded.

  “Y’all ‘ill be a’shootin’ today. Assemble at the clearin’ with your rifles at seven-thirty sharp. Y’all bess not be tardy neither else I’ll be makin’ zamples of y’all,” he growled.

  “Yes Sir,” Geoff and David reported simultaneously.

  The sergeant glared at the two, then added, “It ain’t Sir neither. Y’all call me Sergeant… clear?”

  “Yes Sir Sergeant,” the two responded together.

  He stared at David and Geoff for a moment, and contemplated their response. With his earlier message delivered, he ignored their misuse of address and moved along to complete his morning inspection. David looked over to Geoff and smiled.

  “Well, guess we two fellers better get a move on,” he said, trying to emulate the sergeant’s southern drawl. “The Sarge don’t tolerate no tardiness.”

  “What a douche,” Geoff responded as he picked up his cap. “I should’ve slugged him.”

  “Yeah, good call there junior. Just reach out and give ole Mr. Cooper there a love tap and see how far that gets you,” David joked.

  “Hey man, I was ready to throw down on his wimpy ass. He’s just lucky I was able to control myself,” Geoff snapped.

  “Uh huh… something you should know about the men in this time period. They are hard as nails. They don’t just roll over with a simple slap to the head… especially a rough and tough sergeant like Cooper. I’m betting that guy’s spent years fighting Indians out on the plains. He’s definitely not someone you want to mess with.”

  “Well, just the same, I’m not one to mess with either,” Geoff retorted, desperately trying to salvage his pride.

  “Ok Rambo, let’s just get our stuff together and get out to that clearing… on time!”

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  The Clearing:

  David and Geoff walked into an open field just beyond the last row of tents. Standing by a group of soldiers, Sgt. Cooper waited impatiently for them to arrive. Twisting his handlebar moustache in his fingers, he glared at the two as they neared.

  “What I tell you fellers about being late?” he shouted as they walked closer.

  “We’re not late, Sgt. Cooper. We’re right on time,” Geoff shouted back.

  Sgt. Cooper’s face contorted in a hateful scowl. He ran to the teen, covering the twenty feet in short order and stopped directly in front of him.

  “You calling me a liar,” he shouted angrily, poking his finger into Geoff’s chest.

  Geoff’s face lost all expression. He didn’t expect the sergeant’s response and stood there motionless, stunned from the bizarre outburst.

  “Well boy, am I a liar?”

  “No Sir, Sgt. Cooper,” Geoff responded, his voice filled with fear. “My watch says seven-thirty. I just thought we were on time. I must be mistaken,” he continued, holding his wrist up for the sergeant to see.

  The sergeant glanced at the modern timepiece momentarily, then back to Geoff.

  “I ain’t never seen nothing like that… all fancy like. Y’all steal that while on the run from that New Mexican sheriff?” he growled, his voice filled with contempt.

  “No Sir, Sgt Cooper. It’s mine. I got it from my dad as a Christmas present. Honestly, I’m telling the truth. I didn’t steal it,” the scared teen explained.

  “Let me have a look at that there timepiece then,” he responded, grabbing the teen’s arm.

 
; As he twisted the watch around for a better look, he tried to pull it off his wrist. Quickly, Geoff tugged on the wristband, releasing it into the sergeant’s hands. With great interest, the sergeant stepped back and examined the watch.

  “Hmm, looks real pricey like,” that said, his mind now searching deliberately for his next words. “Shootin’ can get a bit rough out here’n. Maybe I bess collect this from y’all so’s it don’t get broke,” he added with a wily grin. “Y’all can retrieve it after y’alls is done shootin’.”

  Geoff considered challenging the sergeant for his watch, but thought better of it. The cheap Timex was a small price to pay to avoid further abuse, he thought.

  Still staring at the modern timepiece, Sgt. Cooper turned and headed back to the waiting group of soldiers. Realizing his original reason for the interruption, he waved over his shoulder for David and Geoff to follow.

  “I don’t tolerate no tardiness,” he shouted out of the corner of his mouth, eyes still glued to the watch. “Fall in formation.”

  David and Geoff quickly hurried past the sergeant and waited in line with the other soldiers. As the sergeant walked out in front, he held the watch in front of him, then began his instruction.

  “How many of y’all has shootin’ experience?”

  All hands rose, including David’s and Geoff’s. David shot Geoff a surprised glare. Geoff shrugged in acquiescence.

  “I used to hunt with my dad,” he said to David, under his breath.

  “Ok, Good! Let’s see how well y’all do. On my mark, load y’alls rifles,” he shouted loudly, preparing to time the speed of the soldiers. “RELOAD!” he bellowed.

  Every man, grabbed his rifle and held it upright. Reaching into their haversacks, they pulled out small packages of black powder, tore the end off with their teeth and poured the contents down the barrel.

  Geoff watched the men around him and tried to replicate their actions. Reaching into his own backpack, he fumbled for the tiny black powder pouch. As the others finished pouring the contents into their rifles, he lifted the pouch to his teeth, tore it open and poured.

  Even before Geoff found the black powder, the others had moved onto the next step in the process. Reaching back into their packs, they pulled out wadding and a lead ball. Wrapping the bullet in the wadding, they placed it at the barrel’s opening.

  Falling further behind, Geoff shot the sergeant a nervous glance while reaching into his sack for the ball and wadding. As he looked around him, he watched the others pull the ramrod from the rifle’s stock, position it over the bullet and forced it down to the breach.

  Geoff continued on. With the sergeant now staring impatiently, he felt the stress of the moment and dropped the contents in his hand. Quickly, he reached to the ground and retrieved the ball and wadding. As fast as he could, he placed them at the barrel’s opening and reached for his ramrod.

  The others pulled their primer caps from their haversacks and placed them on the firing assembly. At twenty-five seconds, their time wasn’t fast, but it was anticipated for new recruits. With the last step in the process complete, the soldiers brought their rifles to their sides and waited on Geoff to finish.

  With nervous shaking hands, Geoff rammed the bullet down into the barrel. Heat poured off his face as he felt all eyes upon him. As he replaced the ramrod, he searched his pack for a primer cap. Rummaging through the old canvas bag, he found nothing resembling the small copper cartridge.

  Sgt. Cooper watched in disgust as Geoff now searched inside the bag with both hands. Relief swept over him when his fingers curled around a tiny metal object. Pulling out the primer cap, he quickly placed it on the firing assembly, then brought the gun to his side.

  “Forty-eight seconds!” shouted Sgt. Cooper to Geoff. “Where in bloody hell did you learn to shoot? I know men with one arm who can load faster than you.”

  “Sorry, Sgt. Cooper, but I’ve never shot one of these before,” Geoff responded, his answer sounding feeble to the frustrated sergeant.

  “Well boy, you better learn faster else a fast loadin’ Yank ‘ill shoot your ass off,” he shouted. Addressing the group as a whole, he commanded, “Now discharge your weapons and reload. Fire at the targets down yonder.”

  He drew his long-bladed Bowie knife from his sheath and pointed down the field toward a series of posts embedded in the ground. As he stepped off to the side, his eyes were glued to the targets fifty yards away.

  Almost in unison, ten men fired their weapons. Most missed their mark. One man hit the post nearly dead center at its top. Splinters of wood fragmented outward as the bullet impacted the target and shattered.

  Instantly, Sgt. Cooper shot Geoff a puzzled stare.

  “Boy, was that y’alls bullet?” he shouted, his tone sounding angry.

  Geoff felt heat radiate from his face as he was called out in front of the group. From his perspective, the top of the target he hit suffered considerable damage and now he wondered if he were in some form of trouble.

  “I’m not sure, Sgt. Cooper,” he replied, hoping his vague answer would send the sergeant looking elsewhere.

  “Probably just lucky, I reckon,” the sergeant responded, then shouted loudly, “Y’all watch me load my weapon. Y’all pay a close watch on my hands, ya here? Don’t miss nothin’. This is how y’alls is a’pposed to do it.”

  With his own rifle in hand, the sergeant worked swiftly through the reloading procedure, calling out important points as he went. Confidently, skillfully, he completed the task in just under fifteen seconds. The men stood in awe as he called out his time. Before anyone could think, he took a step forward, raised his weapon to the ready and fired, hitting a small knot on a wooden post fifty yards away. Stunned silence fell over the group of soldiers.

  “Y’all just seen the correct way to load and fire a rifle. A good soldier can fire off three to four rounds in a single minute, accurate, while under fire. Right now, y’all ain’t worth a boil on a Yank’s ass, but in two days’ time, they won’t be worth a boil on your’n. Let’s get to work,” he shouted.

  Drawing his long knife from his sheath, he pointed it toward the posts downrange and shouted his next command:

  “RELOAD AND FIRE!”

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  As the hours ticked by, under the watchful eye of the sergeant, the group of soldiers was slowly transformed into skilled marksmen. Able to reload their weapons in twenty seconds or less, they were fast. Although the accuracy of the group was improved to acceptable levels, one man’s skill stood out from the rest.

  Sgt. Cooper stood behind Geoff and watched him shoot. The teen loaded his weapon, aimed and struck the center of his target every fifteen seconds. With each shot, the sergeant shook his head in amazement.

  “Dang Private, that there is some fine shootin’. How ‘bout we give y’all a challenge?”

  Geoff nodded reluctantly.

  “Let’s set up some targets out yonder… say one at a hundred yards and another at a hundred-fifty yards.”

  “Yes Sir, Sgt. Cooper,” Geoff replied simply.

  “Them Yanks don’t suddenly appear at fifty yards. Y’all ‘ill see them rats a’coming from miles away.”

  “Yes Sir, Sgt. Cooper,” Geoff replied again.

  “Private, bring around the wagon,” he yelled to a distant soldier.

  Moments later, the private pulled up with the duty wagon, carrying supplies for the days training session. He hauled back on the reins and stopped the horse in front of Sgt. Cooper. Instantly, the sergeant hopped up onto the buckboard, grabbed the reins from the private and sped off. Within fifteen minutes, the two returned and two new targets were placed.

  “Ok Private, load you’re weapon and shoot that there target at a hundred yards, ya here?,” the sergeant ordered.

  Pulling out Geoff’s Timex, he watched with great anticipation.

  “On my mark,” he shouted from behind. “LOAD AND FIRE!”

  Instantly, Geoff got to work loading his weapon. Like a wel
l oiled machine, he placed the powder, ball and cap in just under fifteen seconds. He raised his rifle, cocked the hammer, briefly aimed and fired. Far out in the distance, the wooden post splinted and fell to the ground.

  “Next target!” Sgt. Cooper commanded loudly.

  Stunned by the sudden request, Geoff paused momentarily, then quickly reloaded his rifle. With the target now one hundred and fifty yards away, it was much too far for straight-line aiming. He paused for a second and thought about the two variables that would affect his shot: wind and gravity. Bringing the rifle to the firing position, he looked down the sights and took aim. Off in the distance, he noticed a slight breeze blowing the grass from left to right. In his mind, he knew the bullet would be blown off course. He aimed slightly to the left to compensate for the wind. As he looked at the target, he knew the bullet would never reach its mark due to gravity. Slowly, he raised the barrel to compensate for it. Holding the barrel steady, he exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger.