Tear In Time (22 page)

  As the
hours ticked by and the wounded flooded the front porch and surrounding
grounds, the three-man team began to work quickly and efficiently. Patience and
practice were paying off. The numbers of wounded were not yet decreasing, but
they were not increasing either. David’s plan had stemmed the tide of the
overflow and had retrained two new doctors.

 
Through their pain and anguish, the wounded proudly related the progress of the
battle. With each report, the three doctors felt relief and exhilaration that
the north was winning the battle, and the poor dead and wounded had not
suffered in vain. With morale high, spirited cheers could be heard above the
groans of the men as they boasted of bravery and nerve.

  While
observing the doctors in action, Pvt. Albert Sullivan sat in the corner of the
makeshift operating room and waited his turn in the surgical assembly line. He
watched in silence as Dr. Rogers administered chloroform to his patient and
began the bloody task of cleaning and prepping the wound. As he worked, Dr.
Rogers began to sense the eyes of Pvt. Albert.

 
"Where are you wounded, private?" Dr. Rogers asked, turning to the
Pvt. Albert for a moment.

 
"It's my arm, sir," Pvt. Albert replied, wincing as he slowly raised
his right arm. "Damn Rebs overran our lines. Got me through the meat, just
below the elbow."

 
"Doesn't look too bad, private. We can have that off in a minute,"
Dr. Rogers replied callously.

  Pvt.
Albert nodded grimly as he resigned himself to his fate. With tears welling up
in his eyes, he rubbed his wounded arm, not from pain but more a symbolic
gesture - Pvt. Albert was quietly saying goodbye to his arm.

 
Overhearing the brief exchange on his right between Dr. Rogers and Pvt
Sullivan, David glanced back at the sorrowful private as he clutched his
wounded limb.

 
"What's your name, private?" David asked sympathetically.

 
"Albert Sullivan, sir," Pvt. Albert replied, quickly swallowing his
emotions in pride.

 
"If you're able, could you come around to the front of my table?"
David asked, pointing out in front of him.

  Pvt.
Albert stood and slowly walked to the front of David's makeshift operating
table as directed, holding his wounded arm delicately as he moved. As he
neared, David glanced at his open wound while he operated on the leg of his
patient.

 
"Would you mind holding up your arm so I can see it?" David asked,
still working diligently to save the limb of his current patient.

 
Holding up his arm, David glanced at it quickly and asked the young private to
rotate the limb so he could get a better look. David stopped what he was doing
for a moment, and smiled at young Pvt. Albert.

 
"How old are you, private?" David asked.

  "I'll
turn seventeen next month, sir," Pvt. Albert replied.

 
"Well, I know your arm looks bad, private, but I'm quite certain we can
save it," David said with an encouraging smile.

  "Sir,
are you sure? That's an awfully large hole. I'm worried he'll have gangrene by
nightfall," Dr. Rogers asked, stopping for a moment.

  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.