Prisoner in Time (Time travel) (58 page)

“Dammit!” he shouted in sadness.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned.

“I’m sorry Doc. There’s nothing you can do. He’s dead,” Geoff said, sympathetically.

Doc nodded reluctantly. He forced himself to overcome his sadness and reached for his rifle.

“I haven’t seen that in over ten years… horrible, just horrible,” he said aloud, reloading once more.

“You’ve seen thousands of men die,” Geoff responded, now puzzled.

“On the operating table, Lad. Not in the field.”

He looked back at the dead private, then back to Geoff. Torment wracked his face.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” Geoff said once more, resting his hand on his shoulder. It was all he could think of to say.

Instantly, more splinters exploded over the top of the breastworks as another bullet imbedded in its top. The two flinched again in reflex and surprise. Shaking off their initial fear, they stared at each other in relief. Without a word spoken, the two acknowledged their need to continue with a simple nod.

Coming to their feet, both men fired simultaneously. Doc quickly ducked behind the wall and reloaded. Pumping the lever of his Henry rifle, Geoff fired six more successive rounds then dropped behind the wall. As he ducked to reload, Doc stood and fired again. Fifteen seconds later, the two stood once more together and fired, repeating their deadly routine.

Nearly out of cartridges, Geoff reached quickly into his side pouch and pulled out another box of bullets. Balancing it on the top of the breastworks, he loaded the last two bullets from his hand into his rifles’ magazine before opening the new box. Suddenly, the box rocked momentarily and fell to the ground. Doc instinctively bent over to pick it up. Instantly, the top of the breastworks exploded into splinters once more as a bullet passed through the top log and continued on.

“Holy Crap Doc!” Geoff shouted in shock. “That bullet would have killed you!”

Doc came to his feet and noticed the damage log in front of him. Handing the box of cartridges to Geoff, he said matter-of-factly, “Wasn’t my time.”

One hundred yards away, the Confederate charge slowed slightly, but continued to close the distance with relentless determination. The sight of their dead comrades inspired them to greater courage and they shouted out their trade mark “Rebel Yell” as they neared.

Timing and luck worked in their favor, as Union firing momentarily slowed. Instantly, Rebel commanders seized the opportunity and shouted orders to speed their charge. In seconds, the whole of the Confederate line surged ahead, closing the last of the distance to the Union line.

Thirty feet…

Twenty feet…

Ten feet…

Running four men abreast, the leaders leaped simultaneously into the air and kicked at the wall of logs. As the large section of wall collapsed, the Confederate line rushed through to the other side. In seconds hundreds of Rebel soldiers mixed with Union soldiers. With their last shots fired and reloading an impossibility, fighting turned hand-to-hand.

Both Geoff and Doc watched in horror as their skirmish line disappeared and along with it, their hope for safety. As the Confederates rushed through the break in the line, twenty feet from their location, the two prepared themselves for the inevitable.

“Doc, stay behind me,” Geoff shouted, pulling at the old man and stepping in front of him.

Doc opened his coat and pulled an old worn knife from a sheath. He tossed his rifle to the side and stepped alongside Geoff.

“Nonsense Lad!” he yelled back over the roar of angry shouting men. “You might be good with a rifle, but I’m even better with a knife.”

Before Geoff could respond, a large Rebel soldier charged at them with his rifles’ bayonet. Instantly, Doc lunged forward and deflected the path of the blade. With the bayonet out of play, he punched the attacker in the jaw to stun him, then swept his knife across the man’s throat. Even before the soldier could cry out, Doc shoved him over and stood ready for another attacker.

Geoff watched in shock and surprise at the swiftness of Doc’s technique. Two more Rebels soldiers moved in to replace the first. Once again, before Geoff could move, Doc stabbed one man in the leg, pushed him into the other, then dropped to the ground, slicing across the other man’s heel and cutting the tendon. As the two men fell to the ground, Doc leaped to his feet and prepared for more.

Geoff caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he spun his rifle around and pointed. Lunging toward him, a Rebel soldier rushed with his bayonet. Geoff deflected the attack with his barrel, then threw his shoulder into the man’s chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. In one quick motion, he spun around with his rifle and clubbed the soldier across the head, knocking him to the ground.

Immediately, he picked up the man’s rifle and pointed the bayonet. As Doc battled one man, another rushed at him from the side. Geoff thrust the rifle to block his advance. The two instantly dropped their weapons and grappled. Geoff stomped at the soldier’s foot, breaking the main supporting bone. As the soldier cried out in pain, Geoff leaped with his knee to the man’s groin doubling him over. Quickly, he picked up a rifle and plunged the bayonet into the soldier’s side.

Doc heard the groan and spun around. He nodded quickly to Geoff in thanks, then turned back to enter the fight.

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

David charged from the river toward the breach in the wall. As the Confederates continued to file in, he realized there was little he could do about the men inside the breastworks. Those already fighting would have to overcome the enemy. He focused on preventing more from entering. Hauling back on his reins, he stopped his horse and shouted new orders.

“Concentrate your fire at the opening. Drive them back,” he commanded.

Riding up and down the line, he repeated his order, pinpointed the firing at the areas of greatest weakness. Waves of lead sailed through the air and found their mark.

Watching the melee from his horse, David monitored the action inside the skirmish line. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he suddenly caught glimpse of a white bearded man savagely wielding a knife, fighting for his life.

“Oh no, DOC!” he shouted aloud, fear now flooded his mind.

Instantly, he kicked his horse and sped off. Galloping behind the skirmish line, his eyes focused on one spot only.

Suddenly, his horse bellowed a guttural groan as blood burst from the animal’s ribcage. Before he could react, the horse’s legs collapsed, throwing him far over its head. Landing hard, he felt a sharp pain in his leg as he rolled to a stop. Dazed momentarily, he leapt to his feet and stared at his broken sword still clutched in his hand. Looking down at his leg, his pants were torn and bloodstained.

“Son of a…” he shouted aloud in pain. “Like I really need this right now!”

Reaching down, he quickly ran his fingers over the wound and winced. Rubbing again lightly, he felt a slice across his thigh.

“Freakin’ sword,” he lamented in disgust.

Still in a daze, he caught movement heading toward him. Instinctively, he side-stepped and parried with his half broke sword, hearing a loud metallic sound as metal contacted metal. Quickly gaining his senses, he recognized the gray uniform of a Rebel soldier spinning around to continue the fight.

Widening his stance, he winced in pain, distracting him from the soldier’s advance. Reacting too late, he thrust his sword out in front of him to block the bayonet once more. Pain seared from his side as the soldier’s blade pierced through his coat and grazed his ribs. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

The Rebel soldier grinned as his prey lay helplessly on the ground. Stepping forward, he raised his rifle over his head to plunge the bayonet into his enemy. He heard a shot and froze.

Barely out of his holster, David held his pistol by his side and watched the soldier’s chest erupt in blood. With a low moan, the soldier’s legs collapsed beneath him and he toppled to one side. Struggling with the pain of two wounds, David hurried to his feet. He glanced down at the now deceased man, then scanned the fight for Doc.

Fifty feet away, he could just make out the old man’s white beard through the crowd. In a split second, the long beard moved from left to right and back again, and suddenly David realized Doc was spinning about his feet, fighting off multiple attackers.

Ignoring the pain the best he could, David limped through the mass of fighting men. Focused and determined, he held his stare on the desperate fight whose outcome seemed inevitable.

Panic raced through David as he hobbled along. With broken sword in one hand, and pistol in the other, he slashed his way through the crowd, saving his bullets for only the most extreme peril.

Twenty feet away, Doc’s face suddenly disappeared. Obstructing his view, two Rebel soldiers stood in David’s path. Rushing at him, both men held out their bayonets and lunged simultaneously. David pulled his trigger and blocked with his broken sword. One man dropped to his knees, gut shot and dying, while the other soldier stopped his advance and spun around to face David once more.

Before the soldier could react, David plunged the end of his broken blade into the man’s throat, severing the carotid artery. Shock filled the surprised soldier’s face as blood exploded from his neck. Without waiting, David shoved the dying man to the ground and continued on.

Pushing through several more feet, Doc came into full view. Spinning and lunging, stabbing and slashing, the old man was breathing heavily as he tired from the fight. His white hair was soaked with sweat, as were his clothes. Marks on his face, sleeves and hands pinpointed signs of trauma as blood dripped from his wounds.

Suddenly, two men grabbed his arms from behind as two men moved in from the front. Doc exploded in their grasps. Roiling with rage, he twisted from one man’s grasp and plunged his knife into his stomach. Still held by the other, he slashed at the two men approaching to his front.

“Get him, Dammit!” the Rebel soldier shouted, now losing his grip.

One man reached to the ground and grabbed an empty rifle. Lunging with the bayonet, Doc masterfully blocked it and stabbed the man’s hand, causing him to drop it once more.

“Never mind with that fancy fencing crap. Shoot that some-bitch,” another responded.

While threatening Doc to his front and being held from behind, the third man quickly grabbed the rifle off the ground and began to load it. In seconds, he rammed the contents of the charge down the barrel. Dropping the ramrod to the ground, he pulled back the hammer and aimed the rifle.

Doc writhed in the soldiers grasp as he watched the armed man raise his now loaded weapon.

“We got ‘im now,” the private shouted in relief, still dodging Doc’s advances.

Doc gasped for air. His lungs ached and he felt overheated to the point of collapse. Growing weak, he searched his mind for escape… but there was none to be had. He had fought the fight of his life, but was now too tired and too outnumbered to win. In a last desperate attempt to survive, he coiled back his arm and aimed his knife at the armed man’s chest.

Before he could throw, a shot rang out and the soldier’s throat erupted with blood. Panic and shock swept his face. His muscles contracted from the pain and he squeezed the trigger. As his rifle roared fired, he fell over backwards… dead.

Doc felt the grip to his arm suddenly release. Glancing behind him, he watched the Rebel soldier fall to the ground, wounded by his now deceased comrades discharging rifle. Turning to his front, with his knife still poised above his head, he threw it at the last man standing. Just feet away, there was no escaping the blades sharp point. Thrown with force, it embedded into the soldier’s stomach up to the handle. He groaned in pain and fell to his knees, both hands clutching the deadly weapon.

As the man fell forward, Doc grabbed his knife and pulled it from the dying man’s stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He spun to engage, but watched the Rebel soldier’s chest burst with blood in front of him.