Echoes of Dark and Light (18 page)

The morning of November 17
^th
came entirely too early with the bugles blasting the safe refuge of my dreams. Still, it took a nudge from Toby to bring me to the surface of consciousness, and I fought it every step of the way. I’d been dreaming of home, walking along the sandy shores of Lake Superior with a crisp breeze blowing through my hair. Reality greeted me with bloody visions of yesterday’s battle spearing my aching head. We broke camp with the sun just beginning to light the sky as we resumed our forced march toward Knoxville.

Within a week, General Burnside had the city of Knoxville surrounded and in a siege. The once prosperous area now had the neglected look most southern cities suffered these days, with peeling paint, cracked windows, busted boardwalks, missing shingles, human and animal waste littering the streets, and townsfolk peering nervously out from behind faded curtains.

The army assigned our infantry to Fort Sanders, which lay in the northwest corner of Knoxville. Steep, almost vertical walls surrounded the fort, walls that dropped directly into a twelve foot wide and four to ten foot deep ditch that encircled the fort for further protection. We expected Lieutenant General Longstreet’s forces to attack any day.

On the morning of November 28
^th
, directly following drills, Captain Truckey pulled us aside.

“Men, we’ve been given a special assignment from General Burnside himself. Our orders are to exit the fort and build barriers to deter Longstreet when he attacks. Half of you will stand guard while the others work on the barriers. Afterwards, we are to continue to stand guard until further notice. Fall in!”

I lined up behind Toby and Woody, but wasn’t surprised when Captain Truckey approached me. I expected to get the speech about not risking undertrained soldiers and then be ordered to report for latrine digging or some other undesirable task. I swore under my breath at the extra ribbing I’d get from Jimmy and his gang for skipping out on the front line again.

“Private Rivers, though I still hesitate to put you on the front lines, the recent events of Campbell’s Station have rendered us short-handed. You will report with the rest of the 27
^th
as directed.”

“Yes, sir!”

Toby offered a sympathetic shrug with a half smile before facing front and marching out in line. The unexpected appearance of his dimple brought a smile to my own face, but it quickly vanished with the whiny, sing-song voice from one of Jimmy’s gang behind me.

“Aww, does little Bobbi have to report to the nursery again to get his nappies changed?”

I ignored him, or tried to, and followed Toby and our unit to the front gate. Monstrous wooden doors cranked open and a plank bridge lowered across the ditch. I glanced down into the muddy chasm as we crossed. The almost vertical sides would prove difficult to climb out of without ladders or ropes, and I wondered who had come up with the clever design for the fort. I also wondered if its defenses had ever been tested before now.

A supply wagon met us on the slope above the fort to deliver rolls of telegraph wire. Half of us spent the next few hours stringing up the wire between tree stumps while the other half stood guard, eyes glued to the forest edge beyond on the lookout for advancing Rebels. Periods of gunfire and cannon blasts had been exchanged over the past few days, so we knew they hid in the nearby forests, and they knew that we knew. Both sides played a waiting game to see who would make the first major move.

After we crisscrossed the slope with telegraph wires, we joined the rest of the unit in keeping watch. The cold crawled up into my bones as I sat in the damp air. And soon boredom reached in to numb my brain. I had to do something to keep alert.

“Hey Toby, Woody. Questions?”

“Good idea.”

“Questions for what?” Woody asked, confused but enthusiastic for almost anything.

“It’s a game,” Toby explained. “One of us thinks of something and the others have to guess by asking questions. Maybe it will help keep me awake.”

“The only things keeping me awake are my cold toes,” I admitted, sheepishly.

“The only things keeping me awake are the Rebs hiding in the woods.” Woody added, but looked confused when Toby and I laughed.

“Okay, I have something in mind,” I began.

“Person, place or thing?” Toby asked.

“Place.”

“Is this place close or far?” Toby shifted the weight of his rifle to his other shoulder.

“Very far.” I edged over a few inches in order to better see a group of shadows in the woods.

“Next question,” Woody jumped into the game, “does this place have strawberry pie with cream?”

I smiled absently and nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Ooo, okay, how about oatmeal raisin cookies?”

“Woody, this place has some of the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the world.”

“And how about plum pudding—”

“Woody,” Toby interrupted, “are you hungry or something?”

“Almost always,” he said with a sigh. “Okay, how about good smellin’ air? Does this place have fresh air, not the stinky latrine smell that seems to follow the Army of the Ohio wherever we go?”

“Most definitely, unless of course you’re actually standing in an outhouse. An outhouse smells like an outhouse wherever you are.” I squinted into the setting sun at the edge of the forest. It appeared like the shadows had moved, and not in a wind through the branches sort of way. I nudged Toby and pointed.

“How about friends. Would this place have a friend or two?”

“Lots of friends, Woody, the best kind.”

Toby edged back and gestured for First Sergeant Barlow who stood a few yards away. I pinned my eyes on the shadows while Toby whispered our suspicions to our poker playing friend. He pulled out a viewing scope and peered through the shiny brass cylinder, slowly nodding his head.

“Yes, it sure seems our Rebel neighbors are up to someth—”

Musket fire exploded from the forest edge and I stared in shock as the First Sergeant crumpled to the ground with a bloody musket hole torn through his chest.

“Get down!” Toby yelled, pulling me off my feet as musket balls flew past my head.

“Cover and retreat! Cover and retreat!” Captain Truckey’s deep voice boomed out over the confusion as he squatted behind a tree stump and took aim at the enemy.

Toby leaned over, yelling in my ear, “The captain gave the cover and retreat order meanin’ half of us provide cover for the other half to retreat to safety, and then vise versa. Start shooting!”

I couldn’t seem to make my limbs work, staring stunned as the First Sergeant’s blood pooled at my feet. Toby and Woody’s muzzle loaders fired alternately as one reloaded and one aimed at the advancing gray-clad men hollering and howling like enraged monsters. Fifty or so men of the 27
^th
quickly and cautiously scrambled down the slope towards the open gate. Every instinct in my bones ordered me to follow, to run for safety. Only Toby and Woody kept me on the line, defying gut survival instinct. I couldn’t, wouldn’t leave my new friends.

“Keep firing, men!” Captain Truckey bellowed between shots. “The first half is almost to the fort!”

I shook myself out of shock and swung my rifle into position. I peered down the barrel, the smoke tearing my vision. I narrowed in on one Reb, his outlines blurring in the smoke and setting sun. I aimed, my finger on the trigger, my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ears. I could hit him, of that I had no doubts; my aim and skill came only second to that of my brother. But I hesitated.
Does this fellow have a brother, too? A mother who would weep for his death? A son waiting at home? How would a person explain to a child that his father had been killed, shot on a battlefield. How do I explain to God…

“Bobbi?”

I turned to Toby’s questioning eyes. “I don’t know if I can,” I whispered.

He must have heard me somehow. “The first one is always the toughest,” he reassured. “Here, give me your gun; reload mine.” He aimed and fired.

The man I’d held in my sights stumbled to the ground and lay still. Toby’s bullet or someone else’s, I would never know. I pushed the dead Rebel out of my mind and concentrated on loading the guns for Woody and Toby. At least I could do that.

When musket balls began sailing overhead towards the Rebs from behind us, Captain Truckey roared for us to retreat; the other half of our unit had reached safety behind the walls of Fort Sanders. And now, with the help of the artillery’s cannons, they fired over the walls at the enemy. Crouching low, we ran down the slope to the waiting bridge. Captain Truckey counted heads as we clamored across the wooden planks, our boots thumping echoes down into the surrounding moat. Satisfied that everyone with a heartbeat had made it to safety, he then followed. Before even halfway across, he signaled for the waiting soldiers to raise the bridge and start closing the heavy doors.

I collapsed to the ground as my legs gave out, not even able to acknowledge Kenny’s nod of greeting or Preacher’s prayer of thanks. Woody and Toby dropped down next to me, trying to catch their breaths.

When Toby could speak again, he turned to me. I expected anger, or worse, disappointment, at my failure to fire my rifle.

“So,” he began, “what’s the answer to our Questions game?”

I stared at him blankly, too stunned to reply.

“That’s easy,” Woody piped in, not bothering to sit up or even open his eyes. “The answer is ‘home’.”

Artillery and Infantry worked together all night, lobbing cannon balls and musket fire over the field at the Rebels, who had retreated back into the cover of the forest. The 27
^th
had orders to sleep, but I couldn’t force my eyes closed for all of the noise. Not to mention the fear still spouting through my veins. Still, I tried to rest as Captain Truckey anticipated more action come sunrise. Others in the 27
^th
seemed to find sleep elusive as well; voices murmured softly in nearby tents.

I longed to ask Toby about what had happened. ‘The first one is always the toughest,’ he’d said.
Had he once hesitated in pulling the trigger as well? If so, how did he overcome it? Do I really want the act of killing to come easy?
But my questions would have to wait; Toby snored loudly, deep in sleep, probably the only one in the entire fort.

I sighed and rolled over to wait for morning, but the frigid hours crept by with a slowness that tugged at my sanity. I couldn’t force the moment from my brain, when I aimed and then failed. Normally I didn’t care a speck about other people’s opinions, but shame flooded my face at what Toby must think of me, perhaps a coward or a liar.

Life thundered by fast and ferocious, like the raging tornados that struck our town back in Indiana. A person tried to stand and face the storm of life, only to be knocked down by disease, hunger, heartache, abuse, fire, a parent’s fist… That person had two choices: she could give up, or climb back on her feet. If she stuck with it, eventually a break in the clouds would reveal the beauty of a rainbow or the love of a friend, bring some sunshine through the storm. But it’s her choice because it’s her life.
And who am I to take away that person’s choice? Who am I to take away that person’s life?
I didn’t have the right, except in self-defense or in defense of a loved one. But right then, the country struggled though a war, and normality didn’t exist in the raging horrors of war. I felt completely lost.