Chapter Text
July 21st, 1861. Prince Wiliam County, Fairfay, Virginia.
I can hear gunshots, though I sit inside a hidden tent like a coward. I shake, while struggling to load my musket, that was given to me by Lord knows who. I drop a mini ball, the new deadly invention that multiplies the dangers of this war. I press the loaded gun to my chest, the front resting against the bottom of my chin. I'm debating whether to end it all. But I can't go out like that. I have a family, or what's left of one. I haven't heard from them in months, so I have no way of knowing whether they are alive or not. I hope my little sister's alive. I have a vivid memory of her.
Her name's Annie. I remember being in the fields with her, playing some sort of running game. She fell and scraped her knee. She was hidden in the fields so all I could hear was her crying, screaming "BUBBA! BUBBA!" I run as fast as possibly can, smacking the corn and ferns out of the way. I finally get to her, and she's pointing to her bloodied knee. I only remember not being able to comfort her until I'm shaken out of my trance.
"Get up, soldier!" An older man shakes my shoulder vigorously. He offers me a hand, I take it, struggling to get up. Stupid! I haven't even done anything yet and I'm already quivering like a baby. I hold my musket tightly, fearing I might drop it. I hold my breath as I exit the tent, the sun blinding. I hear men shouting and it snaps me out of my quivering daze. Reminding myself that I'm a real man and have no other choice than to fight for the North. I hear a fuse, I don't know where the noise is coming from.
I remember playing with town boys as a kid, hoarding around long sticks that were presumably "muskets." We would mimic the sound of cannon firing by making sizzling sounds with our mouths and slamming the house doors as the "sound of the cannon." But this cannon didn't sound like a house door. It sounded like the sky splitting open. I look over the rolling Virginia fields, where smoke hangs low over the grass. The morning had begun hot and bright, the kind of July day that made the earth shimmer. Now the sunlight seemed dimmer, not because the clouds had come, but because the air itself had filled with powder and fear.
Only weeks earlier, I had thought the war would be quick. So had nearly everyone. People said one good battle would settle it, one strong change. The Union would march South, the rebellion would collapse and the boys would be home. I had believed that because I wanted to. I had wanted to be brave without being afraid. I had wanted to wear that uniform and have my mother look at me with pride. But that John is gone, changed. I've come to recognize that I might never see my mother again.
The order comes, "Forward!" We march. I only step when the others' step. We look like a sick hivemind line, charging to our deaths. The second order comes, "Fire!" You could see bits of light in the smoke and soldiers were falling before they even knew they'd been hit.
A soldier on my right jerked half around by the bullets. He was dead before he hit the ground. Another cannon fired, the shell hitting the ground somewhere near. I watch as men fly, hitting the dirt with a deafening crack. I hear someone scream. They must have known one of the unfortunate men who'd been hit.
"Unfortunate," is the only thought that comes to my mind. I don't have time to mourn over the dead. I need to focus on the battle right in front of me so I don't end up dead. Another order. We continue to march. I seem to fall into another trance, shooting when others' shot. Screaming when others' did. I don't feel like a real man; instead, I feel like some kind of toy, forced to fight against my will for this cruel, never-ending madness.
I've forcefully chosen to stop breathing, the smoke being too intoxicating for any man's lungs. I consider myself lucky, having all this time to think. Not much like the other men; only fighting on pure rage and instinct.
Yet another order, "Fire the cannons!" I duck and cover, sheltering my ears as the earth around me seems to explode. I close my eyes, praying "God keep me," over and over again. That's when I feel it. The battle around me seems to freeze. A loud crack, a deafening whistle; I knew I was either doomed or going crazy. A hard shove and I'm knocked out of the way somewhere. Right then, the ground splits, then dirt flies, then so do I. I hit the ground hard, the pressure of the air seeming to press me into the ground like a pancake.
I'd just been saved from certain death. But by who? I check my surroundings, still a little dizzy. I don't see anything. I wonder if my savior had dodged the shell somehow. I walk around, deeply confused, stepping over uneven dirt.
CRACK
My foot sinks into something hard and sharp. I scream, realizing what I've stepped on. The skull of my savior. I back away in horror, the crack of the skull echoing through my head. Here lies the remains of my savior.. I recognize it, his short, messily buzzed hair, the grim smile on his face. He was my partner, my friend through the march here. His name was Jeff. He had a family, a life back home. He didn't deserve this. But here he was. Dead. All because of me.