Tear In Time (24 page)

  As the
Union fired upon the Confederates, the Confederates returned their fire from
inside the trees. Their hail of bullets concentrated on the Union skirmish line
that lay exposed and vulnerable. Within minutes, a hundred Union men lay
decimated, easily picked off by the Confederate sharpshooters.

  The
sudden advantage gained by this action produced irrational euphoria in the
Confederates, and they raced from behind the trees and into the open field,
charging down the sights of their opponents’ rifles. Like lemmings to a cliff,
others followed behind the leaders. Moments later, all Union rifles
concentrated on the suicidal Confederate advance. Under a heavy blanket of
lead, the Union line crushed the advance, reducing the once formidable column of
fighters to a mound of bleeding flesh and shattered bone.

  As
David reloaded and fired, he heard the wind rush by his head. Looking at the
trees, he realized that there were no winds at all. It was dead calm. Suddenly
it became clear. The wind he was hearing were the bullets passing nearby. A
shiver ran down his spine as he began to understand just how close he was to
being struck by the deadly nuggets of lead. Fear paralyzed him momentarily as
he hid behind the safety of the breastworks.

 
Without warning, David heard a bullet hit a rock next to him. Startled, he
instinctively moved away from the sound and abruptly slammed into the rocks to
his right, sending intense pain through his arm and neck. Somewhere, deep
inside, anger replaced his fear. He angrily placed the barrel of the rifle on
the pile of rocks in front of him, barely taking the time to aim and pulled the
trigger. Far in the distance, a charging man in gray stumbled and fell. David
pushed the scene from mind and reloaded.

  As
more soldiers stepped out into the open field and took the place of their
fallen comrades, others stayed behind and fired from the safety of the trees,
not out of cowardice, but to lay down covering fire for the next assault.
Underestimating the strength of the Union position, the next volley of Union
fire proved too formidable for even the bravest Confederate soldier. Within
minutes, the next company of soldiers lay dead, barely crossing the first half
of the field. Time and again the process repeated itself, with the same deadly
results.

  There
were moments when coincidence in reloading created lulls in the Union firing.
It was at these times that the Confederates launched their most dangerous
assaults. After successfully repelling the Confederate attacks, David
recognized the value of sustained firing and quickly called orders to stagger
the sequence of reloading. He quickly reorganized the men in his close
proximity, separating them into five groups, every group containing ten men.
Each group reloaded together and fired together. The various stages of
reloading was staggered along the five groups of men so that as group one
fired, group two had just finished reloading and was now ready to fire. As
group two fired, group three had just finished reloading and was now ready to
fire. The effect was an organized volley of lead that appeared continuous and
intimidating.

 
Confederate command, looking for weakness in the Union lines, avoided David's section
and concentrated on more vulnerable positions for attack. As other lieutenants
observed David’s successful strategy, they too tried to adopt the organized
firing as best they could. Soon, the continuous and rapid discharging of
weapons from various sections of the skirmish line eliminated any lull in the
Union firing.

  Both
camps traded blows that ebbed and flowed in success, but neither was able to
rout the other. The superior fighting force of the Confederates may have
outnumbered the Union brigade, but the Union brigade held a superior position,
making any gain for the Confederates nearly impossible. After two hours of
fighting, quiet swept over the open field.

  With
the penalty for chasing a fleeing foe so high, Confederate commanders gave the
order to abort their pursuit. As quickly as they had appeared, the Confederate
forces disappeared into the forest. The battle for Cedar Mountain was over, and
the south emerged victorious. There would be little to gain by capturing the
remnants of a broken and disheveled Union brigade, yet any further loss of
Confederate men and morale would have lingered as an insult to their own
victory. They pulled back to the safety of their general masses and joyfully
celebrated, while the Union men gathered the remains of the wounded and quietly
retreated, sad and, for the moment, defeated.

  David
stood for a moment and looked at the faces around him. A sense of relief spread
through the line as the last shot became a memory. He watched the men slowly
stand and mull around as if in shock, then quickly regain their senses as they
rushed to tend to their fallen brothers. Standing with the rifle in his hands,
graphic images of the battle flooded his mind. He began to feel nausea, and his
body started to shake uncontrollably. As a doctor, he recognized the signs of
sensory overload, and quickly reached for his canteen, but only too late. David
dropped to his knees and violently vomited on the ground just inches from where
he fought.

  “First
time, sir?” came a voice above him.

  David
glanced up and squinted in the sunshine that silhouetted the man standing in
front of him. He wiped his mouth, then shielded his eyes with his still shaking
hand. He noticed a toothy smile, then the private’s insignia on his sweat-soaked
uniform.

  “Is
this your first time a fight'n, sir?” the private pressed further, in a
sympathetic tone.

  David
use his rifle to stand, but the private immediately grabbed him under the arm
and helped him to his feet. He then, almost instinctively, came to attention in
front of David.

 
“Thanks. Guess I'm not quite used to all this yet,” David replied, still a bit
wobbly.

  “No,
sir,” the young private answered. “Would you like a drink of my water, sir?”

  “Yes, thank
you,” David said, accepting the canteen more from etiquette than out of
necessity. He took a drink, then said, “Wow, that was unbelievable. The noise,
the smoke, the friggin' bullets. I had a bullet ricochet off a rock right next
to my head,” he said, pointing to the scar on the rock, then handed the canteen
back to the young man.

  “Yes
sir,” replied the private respectfully. “Sir, are you ok? You ain’t shot or
nothing are you?”

  “No,
not that I know of,” David replied, looking himself over for a moment.

  “Sir,
is that your blood?” the private asked.

  “What
blood?” David asked, a bit confused.

 
“Lieutenant, your neck is bleedin',” replied the private, pointing to David's
neck on the left.

  David rubbed
his neck a little, then winced. He drew his hand down and looked at his bloody
fingers.

  “What
the hell?” he exclaimed in shock.

  He
brought his fingers back up to his neck and touched the sore area lightly,
trying to gauge the severity of the wound by feel. Realizing he'd been shot,
his knees buckled underneath him. As the young private helped him to the
ground, David's mind began to race. He knew by the feel of the wound that he
wasn't wounded badly: in fact, the wound felt more like an abrasion than
anything else. Drawing on his years of training, he forced himself to think
rationally and stay in control. He looked up at the young private and forced a
smile.

  “Sorry
for the overreaction. I know this sounds clichéd but I think it's only a scratch,”
David said with an embarrassed smile.

  “Yes,
sir, a scratch,” the young private replied, not understanding the 20
^th
Century cliché.

  David
stood and poured some water over the wound from his canteen, then said, “That
bullet must have ricocheted off the rock and hit my neck. Man, was I ever
lucky.”

  The
young private replied energetically, “Yes, sir. You surely were lucky.”

  “Not
as lucky as some, though,” David replied, looking down the skirmish line. “We'd
better attend to the wounded. Have you seen Dr. Morgan?” he asked.

  “No,
sir, but I reckon he's tending the wounded fellers way back yonder,” the young
private suggested, pointing back behind the farmhouse. “I saw him helpin' the
others just before we got to fightin’.”

  “I
better go find him. I'm sure he's going to need my help,” David said, trying to
force a more confident posture through his anxiety.

  “Yes
sir,” the young Private replied in simplicity. “Should I tag along juss' in
case, sir?” the young Private continued.

  “No,
private. I think these boys need your help. Why don't you try to find your
sergeant and lend him a hand, ok?” David asked.

  “Yes
sir,” the young private replied politely.

  With a
quick nod of his head in respect, the private turned and hurried down the now
fragmented and dismantled skirmish line.

  David
turned and hurried up the dirt road that led away from the old farmhouse.
Passing soldier after soldier in retreat, the saddened looks on their faces
fueled the flames of David's despair. Limited rations, restless sleep, and now
violent combat left David's mental state on the edge of collapse.

  As he
walked, he reflected on happier memories before his time travel. He thought about
his family and friends and the happiest moments spent with them, and although
their faces were now becoming increasingly more difficult to visualize, his
emotional connection with them was growing stronger. He missed them terribly,
and the pain of it left a lump in his throat.

 
Restraining his tears, he was immediately distracted by the screams of a
wounded soldier who was being roughly handled in their haste to retreat. The
piercing cries of pain sent shivers down David's spine. He could see the desperation
in the poor wounded man's face, and sadness and guilt on his two friends as
every move they made sent him further into agony. David could stand the sight
no longer. He quickened his pace and focused on the road in front of him,
blocking out the carnage as he hurried on by.

  David
forced himself to think of the laughs he had with his colleagues at the
hospital, and the happier vacations he spent in the Florida Keys. He tried to
remember anything that would lift his saddened spirit. In spite of his best
efforts, his mental state continued its further decline. From his hot, sticky
blue uniform that chafed with every move, to the dusty road, ugly from human
wreckage, as well as his constant nagging hunger and thirst, all were too
powerful for David to overcome. All at once, a broken dam of emotions flooded
David’s senses, overloading his mind, sending him into an irrational and
disoriented state. He could take no more. He wanted to escape. He needed to
escape. David began to run as tears of sadness streamed down his face, their
salty taste inciting further despair.

  Just
up ahead, the road split off into a smaller road that hugged the open farmland.
Too small to carry the whole of the Union’s Gen. Negley's men, it remained
unused and deserted. As he ran, David ignored the strange stares of the men and
quickly turned off onto the deserted road. Running as fast as he could, his
lungs began to scream for relief as they were being pushed to their limit of
endurance. He could feel sweat pouring down from under his hat and his feet
pained as they tried to carry the load of David’s heavy frame, unsupported in
the old leather boots.

 
Running, isolated and alone, David openly cried out loud, his emotions flowing
unabated. Months of desperation and hopelessness he had buried inside him were
now the life blood that flowed through him. David was now consumed by his
despair.

  Behind
him, as he ran, David began to hear the sound of hooves. The sound grew louder
by the moment. Looking over his shoulder, David saw the familiar white bearded
face of Dr. Morgan, determined and focused as he clutched the reins of his
horse. Hunched forward in the saddle and kicking his horse’s underbelly with
his stirrups, he road purposefully, quickly closing in on David's location.

 
Irrational and out of control, David tried to quicken his pace, but physically
he had reached his limit of endurance. With his lungs feeling like they were
ready to burst, he slowed his pace to a jog. Out of breath and exhausted, David
heard the sound of the trotting horse pull up beside him.

  “Son,
it's ok. I'm here to help you,” Dr. Morgan called out to David in compassionate
tone.

  With
his mind racing, David searched for a reply, but could think of none.

  Once
again, Dr. Morgan spoke, “David, please, stop. Where are you heading?”

  “I
don't know,” David shouted out through labored breathing. “I just can't take it
anymore.”

  Dr.
Morgan sped up in front of David, then leaped off his horse. As David jogged
by, Dr. Morgan jogged beside him.

  “Son,
I'm no spring chicken. Would you mind slowing down so we could talk at a rested
pace?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  Out of
breath, David could jog no further. He honored Dr. Morgan's request and slowed
to a walk. Together, the two walked in silence, both collecting their thoughts.
With his old friend beside him, David began to regain control of his senses.

 
Clearing his throat, Dr. Morgan began, “Son, the intensities of war are
something that one never grows accustomed to. It is unnatural and demoralizing
as we watch our brothers lay dying in agony. I have no words of comfort other
than to say to you that we fight for a noble cause, and this cause, in the end,
helps to heal our tortured soul. I have fought in many conflicts and have yet
to emerge for one unscathed, yet if asked if I would suffer again the same
battle, the same scars, my answer would be a resounding yes, because I know
that without my efforts our noble cause would succumb to the tyranny of evil
men. As difficult as the task might be, we must endeavor to pursue the
righteous path.”

  Dr.
Morgan paused for a moment, allowing David a chance to digest the depth of his
message. As David's facial expression softened a bit, the old sage continued
on, “Son, my father was also a physician. He once attended to a man on his
deathbed. This man had obtained notoriety for his courage in battle, and before
he succumbed to pneumonia, my father complimented him on this very quality –
courage, that is. The profound and humble reply of this man should serve as
guide for all humanity.”

  As the
two negotiated the irregularities in the dirt road, Dr. Morgan continued to
speak. “My father commented to the dying gentleman, 'You are the bravest man I
have ever met,' and to this the gentleman replied, 'Sir, I am but a common
farmer, vulnerable to cowardice like any other. If it were not for my duty, I
would surely have given in to weakness and repaired to the safety of my beloved
Virginia. Alas, when tragedy was upon me and all seemed lost, I focused on my
sense of duty at these darkest moments. It is there that I found the strength
that kept me on the righteous path.'”

 
Hearing this message, David stopped short in the middle of the road. It took
less than a second for him to collect his thoughts and respond. “Doc, I’m just
a physician, not a military man. I'm afraid to die. I just don't have that kind
of courage.”

  “What
is courage but acting on what is right? In essence, your duty,” Dr. Morgan
retorted immediately.

  “What
is right?” David questioned incredulously, “Doc, I was out there killing people
today. It is completely contradictory to my oath as a doctor. What’s more, I was
wounded. On top of that, I actually pretended like I knew what I was doing out
there and changed the strategy of the commanders. I probably caused more harm
than good.” With his head bowed and his voice softened, he finished, “I feel
like a menace. I don’t belong here.”

  Dr.
Morgan took a small step forward, gently placed his hand on David's shoulder,
and spoke, “You demonstrated remarkable leadership under fire today, son.
Reorganizing the men to sustain their firing proved very effective; so much so
that others down the line also adopted this strategy. Your leadership probably
prevented the Confederates from breaking through. You saved lives and prevented
almost certain capture. You may not realize this, but you were not a doctor out
there today. You were a military man acting out your duty to save the lives of
your men.”

  David
raised his head and gave the old doctor an appreciative stare as he thought
about the previous statement. Nodding slightly in acknowledgment, David's face
suddenly became confused. Now slowly shaking his head, he questioned the old
doctor.

  “Wait
a minute. Doc, you weren't on the battlefield today. How do you know what I did
out there? Did you speak to someone?” David asked.

  “I
overheard some of the men discussing the battle as I was working on the
wounded,” Dr. Morgan replied simply.

 
“Talking about me? What did they say?” David asked, now surprised and
intrigued.

  “By
all accounts, I'd say they were mightily impressed with your leadership,” Dr.
Morgan replied back quickly. “Under fire, they claimed you had a cool head and
fired judiciously, even after you were wounded. As I said, the steady firing
turned back the enemy.” Now staring directly into David's eyes, he finished,
“Far from a menace by anyone’s calculations.”

  Taking
a step back, David paced in a small circle trying to rationalize the old
doctor’s report of his actions. A moment later, with the graphic images of the
battle still fresh in his mind, David blurted out, “Cool head? Doc, I was
scared out of my mind.”

  Cool
and steady, Dr. Morgan replied in a comforting tone, “Everyone has moments of
fear, son. You would be mentally unfit if you did not. Don't let your lack of
experience betray your judgment.”

  Once again,
the old doctor stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on David's shoulder. He
continued, “I know this time period is difficult for you, David. By your
description of things, what I take for granted you consider primitive, so in
addition to learning to live in an unfamiliar and difficult world, you must do
so under violent conditions – most certainly the root of your ambivalence – but
as long as you are in this time period, you can do good; good for your country,
good for your countrymen. You have already unwittingly acted on duty. Let your
duty be your guide.” Now staring directly into David's eyes for effect, he
finished, “As that common farmer said, 'In duty, you will find the strength
that keeps you on the righteous path.’ That common farmer did not give up. You
should not either.”

  David
felt the truth and wisdom of the old doctor's message deep within his
conscience. Hearing Dr. Morgan's soothing tone and listening to his insightful
words calmed his mind, and allowed him to reflect back on his moments during
the previous march, where duty kept his fear under control as he rode through
the violent thunderstorm. Somehow he had forgotten that quiet oath he had made
and, with his head bowed, felt a moment of shame as he now forced himself to
realign his philosophies.

 
Slowly, he began to feel a warm contentment as he embraced his commitment to
duty, a feeling common amongst the men of this time period, a feeling that
created an unbreakable bond that allowed them to stand and fight in the face of
death, as they all had done today, just as the common farmer had done in the
past.

  David
thought about the words from the common farmer. They were profound and
inspiring. He wondered if the men he fought beside today had heard these same
words before.

  “Doc,
who was this common farmer anyway?” David asked.

 
“George Washington,” Dr. Morgan stated proudly.

 
“George Washington? THE George Washington? First president of our country
George Washington? David exclaimed.

  “The
one and only,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David
was suddenly taken aback. He had not expected this answer, and stood speechless
for a moment. By all accounts, George Washington was one the bravest men he
ever heard of. His successes in battle were legendary, but nowhere was it ever
written that he was afraid. David now realized that George Washington was a
regular man, prone to fear just as anyone else, and his successes were built on
his duty. The same duty that helped David through the violent thunderstorm, and
the same duty that helped the Union line stand bravely and succeed in the face
of almost certain death and capture.

  “Wow!
Hard to believe the 'Father of our Country' was afraid of anything. So duty
kept him focused when he was scared? Man, that's impressive,” David said, still
astonished by this new piece of information.

 
“Inspiring,” Dr. Morgan corrected with an insinuating smile.

  “Hmm,
yes, very inspiring,” David replied back with his own reassuring smile.

  “So I
may presuppose that you will be joining me for dinner this evening?” the old
doctor asked.

  “Well,
what kind of man would I be if I turned tail and ran after that kind of story?
Besides, now that I'm thinking more clearly, where would I go if I did leave?” David
replied with an appreciative smile. Extending his hand, he continued, “Thanks
for the help, doc. I owe you one.”

  As Dr.
Morgan shook David's hand, a confused look came over his face. “One what?” He
asked.

  “It's
just a figure of speech,” David replied.

  Dr.
Morgan nodded simply, then retracted his hand. Without another word spoken, the
two turned and walked back toward Dr. Morgan's grazing horse and the waiting
wounded in need of treatment. Walking side by side, the scuffle of their
footsteps was the only sound between the two as both reflected on their
previous dialogue.

  The
two reached Dr. Morgan's horse and prepared to mount two on one horse. As David
watched the old doctor climb up into the saddle, he asked, “So your dad worked
on George Washington, eh? What did he say about him? What stood out in his mind
the most about the ‘father of our country’?”

 
Reaching for the reins, Dr. Morgan immediately replied without hesitation, “He
had a propensity toward exceptionally foul and unrepentant flatulence.”

  At
first, David wasn't sure if he heard the old doctor correctly, but replaying
his words in his mind, there was no question of what he heard. David's stomach
twitched. As the corners of his mouth began to turn up, he forced them back
down. David felt the makings of a laugh approaching and struggled to contain
it, as he was not sure how Dr. Morgan would react. He did not want to insult
the old doctor, but subject matter of this nature was just too overpowering for
David's self-control. Slowly and steadily, he felt it: the involuntary muscle
spasms that signal an oncoming laughing spell. David bit his lip and pushed his
fingernails into his palms, hoping that the pain would derail his impending
laughter. It was not to be. Like a broken dam, David let out a bellowous,
uncontained laugh, bringing tears to his eyes and almost losing his breath.

  “The
guy was a farter?” David roared, throwing impropriety to the wind.