Prisoner in Time (Time travel) (27 page)

A single private watched from behind the breastworks as the shell exploded in front of him. With just his eyes raised above the platform, a false sense of security deceived his logic. Molten shrapnel tore at the wood and stone wall. Particles that missed, rushed past the barrier and impacted the trees behind him. Only too late did he realize his error. Like a surgeon’s scalpel, the molten material carved through the private’s forehead, removing it in one quick slice. Instantly, he toppled rearward from the force of impact.

Crouching beside him, a lucky private stared in horror as brains and blood poured from the dead man and saturated the grass and leaves around him. The sight of his now deceased friend consumed him with nausea. In reflex, he leaned forward and instantly wretched as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Primal rage surged within the saddened private. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then clutched his rifle. Angrily, he spun around and knelt at the wall. Raising his weapon, he sighted the barrel, elevating it high above the target to compensate for gravity. With the hammer cocked, he pulled the trigger and the weapon roared to life. Smoke, flames, then lead, exited the end of the barrel. The minie-ball sailed through the air on a parabolic trajectory. Two seconds later, half way across the field, the bullet reached its highest elevation. As it headed on its downward path, a confident enemy prepared its charge on the Confederate positions.

Union Private Stanley Morris stood nervously and waited his orders to charge on the Confederate lines. Suddenly, he heard a faint whistle. As his mind began to process the sound, his brain instantly ceased to function. The minie-ball impacted the private’s forehead, tearing through tissue and exploding out the rear of his skull. Still clutching his weapon, he fell backward on the ground.

Stunned by the sudden death of one of his men, Gen. Thomas stared in shock at such a lucky shot. Turning back toward the enemy, his cold stare turned black. Anger raged within him as he seethed. Pointing his sword toward the Confederate line, he bellowed his next order:

“MARCH!”

-----*-----*-----*-----

Sgt. Cooper heard the single shot from the rifle. In reflex, he turned to the direction of the sound. As he watched a plume of smoke rise from the private’s weapon, he felt disgust at the waste of their limited resources.

Angrily, he shouted, “HOLD Y’ALL’S FIRE!”

He turned back toward the Union lines and noticed a change: Movement.

Quickly, he reached into his side pouch and pulled out a small brass cylinder. He grasped it at each end and pulled. Instantly, the mini-telescope opened. He placed it to his eye and scanned the distant field. Dread coursed through him. He closed the field glass and stowed it back in his pouch.

Mentally he calculated the time the enemy would be in range:

“Ten minutes,” he said aloud to no one in particular.

He stood and faced his men on the right.

“Prepare to fire!”

He turned to his men on the left.

“Prepare to fire!”

Turning back to his men on the right, he shouted, “Fire on my says so!”

He turned to the men on his left and relayed the same order.

Looking up at the bluff thirty yards away, he dashed off to deliver further orders.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Earlier:

Geoff heard the sound of the incoming shell and instinctively ducked. With his head buried in the grass, his body shook with a violent jolt as he heard the shell explode in the tree behind him. In reflex, he turn his head to investigate and watched in horror as the top half fell forward and crushed a man beneath it.

Panic coursed through him. He wanted to run but was paralyzed with fear.

Seconds later, another shell exploded in the trees further down the line. He heard the screams from the wounded private and lifted his head to investigate once more, only to feel the heavy weight of a hand on his head, forcing him to the ground.

“Stay down, you damn fool. What are you, touched?” the private lying next to him shouted.

No further words were needed. Geoff instantly pressed his face into the grass and waited. As he stared out to his right, at the far end of the skirmish line, a series of shells exploded just short of the wall. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and flinched at the tremendous sound. As he opened his eyes, he watched a young private fire his rifle into the air. A moment later, the angry sergeant shouted his order to ‘hold his fire’.

Staring across the row of men, Geoff spotted David. As he aimed down the barrel of his rifle, his focus was intense and determined. He neither flinched nor moved a muscle. Bravely he stared out across the field and waited on his future.

Geoff looked back to the private on his left. He was crouched below the large log, with his eyes raised just above it. Like David, he too stared down upon the enemy with fearless determination. With his firearm ready at his side, he was an inspiring sight.

“Aren’t you scared?” Geoff asked, in fearful tone.

Private Alvin Holley glanced toward Geoff. He could see the panic in his eyes.

“First time?” he asked, almost in casual tone.

“In battle? Yeah,” Geoff responded nervously.

“Look, you’re either going to die or you’re not. It’s that simple,” Pvt. Holley responded

“What do you mean?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear more.

“You either fight like you’re going to live or fight like you’re going to die. You have to make a choice.”

“What’s fighting like you’re going to die?” he asked, now puzzled.

“When you fight like you’re going to die, you don’t give it your all because you know even if you do, it won’t matter. You might as well not fight at all… just let those Yankees run right over the top of you.”

“So what’s fighting like you’re going to live?”

“When you fight like you’re going to live, you give it everything you have because you know you can without fear of dying. You don’t give up… ever. You fight making the right choices knowing you are going to survive, instead of making the wrong choices due to your fear of dying. It’s the wrong choices that will get you killed for sure, Pvt. Holley explained.

“But what if you fight like you’re going to live and you die anyway?”

“If it’s your turn to die, there’s nothing you can do about it. When death comes, you’ll never know it because you’ll be dead anyway. So until then, fight like you’re going to live,” he responded with conviction.

Geoff thought about the private’s words. They were profound and inspiring.

“Wow… fight like you’re going to live. Man, you’re so right,” he said confidently.

In his mind, he pictured himself alive and would still be after the battle. For that moment, he stiffened his resolve. Just like the private next to him and David down below, he positioned his rifle and prepared himself to fight for his life.

Seconds later, Sgt. Cooper shouted his next command: “Prepare to fire!”

-----*-----*-----*-----

Sgt. Cooper charged up the hill. With shells exploding nearby, he flinched with each report, and continued on. Geoff watched him approach and instantly felt apprehension.

Turning to Pvt. Holley, he said, “God, what does he want now?”

“Don’t know, but he sure looks like he’s onto something,” the private responded with agitation in his voice.

Even before he arrived, Sgt. Cooper shouted out his new orders.

“Y’all listen up. Them Yanks is on the move.” Pointing to a tree a quarter of a mile away, he continued, “Soon as they all reach that tree out yonder, y’all lay down a bead on them, ya here?”

Seven men stared out across the field at an approaching enemy, then tried to gauge the distance to the tree.

“I’m a’guessin’ it’s about four hundred yards out. Should be aim-able,” Sgt. Cooper continued.

With the focus on their jobs, they nodded simply in reply.

“If y’all can slow ‘em down out yonder, it’ll give the other fellers time to cut ‘em to ribbons. Shoot fast… Shoot accurate.” He turned to head back down, then stopped and said to Geoff, “And boy… I know you’re a shooter, so you can stop faking it. Shoot far and get them damn blue bellies.”

David watched the short encounter at the top of the bluff and wondered about Geoff’s safety.

“What the heck’s he doing now?” he said to himself under his breath. “Probably some stupid suicide mission.”

Moments later, Sgt. Cooper took his position several feet to the right of him.

Just then, David heard the high-pitched whistle of an incoming shell. He rolled flat on his stomach and lay perfectly still. Seconds later, the shell exploded just in front of the skirmish line, several yards away. It tore through the flimsy logs and hurled projectiles in all directions. One man was instantly killed, another lay mortally wounded.

David rolled his head to one side to investigate. As the young private lay dying, Sgt. Cooper stood over him and spoke words of comfort. Seconds later, he patted the private’s chest, then knelt beside David at the wall. Pulling his field-glass from his pouch, he looked across the field and acknowledged the enemy’s position.

“Are they going to be all right?” David asked.

“Not when we all get through with ‘em,” he responded, in distracted tone.

“No, I meant the guys up on the bluff. You went up to talk to them. Are they going to be all right?” David asked once more.

Sgt. Cooper stared at David, pulling his mind from his current thought and focusing on David’s.

“It’s not them fellers up there I’m worried about. They’re safe enough up on that bluff. It’s y’all down here I’m fearin’ for. Hopefully, they all will slow them blue scum down enough for you boys to shoot ‘em to pieces. If they start to get through our line, it’s going to be a hot time for y’all.”

David nodded, then turned to check the progress of the approaching enemy. Well past the halfway point in the one mile clearing, he knew the real action was about to begin. Turning back to the sergeant to ask a question, he noticed he was gone. David looked further down the line and spotted him engaged in serious conversation with a corporal. Suddenly, rifles roared from the bluff. In that instant, five men fell dead a quarter mile away.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Just moments before:

Union Privates Andrew Jacobs and Robert Corso marched double time across the field. With the Confederate’s skirmish line looming larger and more distinct, so too was their fear and anxiety. The two had fought in countless battles and emerged unscathed. Although they knew they were lucky, they also knew at some point, their luck would run out.

Pvt. Jacobs’ hands were covered in nervous sweat. He wiped the moisture off on his pants and re-gripped his hold on his rifle. Looking over to his friend, he saw him staring back at him and in his eyes, he saw the same emotion he was feeling.

“You scared?” Pvt. Jacobs asked.

“Nah, we’ll be ok. Don’t worry,” Pvt. Corso lied, hoping to ease his friend’s mind.

Pvt. Jacobs stared out at the haphazardly thrown line of logs in the distance. He couldn’t yet see the rifles pointing back at him, but he knew they were there. Off to his right, he noticed a large tree.

“About halfway now,” he guessed.

Pvt. Corso looked back over his shoulder, then back to the tree.

“Yup, not too much longer now before we give those Rebs a thorough whooping,” he replied proudly.