Tear In Time (28 page)

 
“Sucks? What is this term? I don't recall ever hearing it before,” Dr. Morgan
asked.

  “It's
derogatory for 'suck my … whatever you choose',” David explained, having
forgotten momentarily that he was using a 20
^th
Century term in the
19
^th
Century. “In short, it just means that you don't like what you
are hearing.”

  “Hmm,
I see,” Dr. Morgan replied. “Between you and me, David, I don't plan on sending
this man to an early grave just because he wears a gray uniform. I am a
God-fearing man, and I don't believe the good Lord would approve of the
technicality that war prescribes. All men are equal in his eyes, whether they
wear a gray uniform or blue. In the end, when I meet him, I will have to answer
for my actions. Being a man of God and a man of medicine, I will do my best to
help all men equally. Therefore -” Dr. Morgan paused, looked around, then
continued in a whispered volume, “Therefore, we will place him out of sight and
heal him quietly. When he is able we will, of course, have to send him off with
the other prisoners of war. This would not be the first time I have had to make
the correct choices for those whose judgment is clouded by war.”

  “Doc,
I hope you don't mind me saying, but you are a good man,” David said, relieved
by the outcome.

  “Why
would I mind you saying that?” Dr. Morgan replied, a bit confused.

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

  “Quite
right, quite right,” replied Dr. Morgan. “For my records, would you happen to
know what this young lad's name is?

  “John
Starnes. At least, that is what he told me before he went under,” David
replied.

  Dr.
Morgan looked thoughtfully at the young, wounded private as he laid
unconscious. Applying the finishing touches to the bandage, he said, “Well,
Mister Starnes, I'd say you were a very lucky man. If it were anyone else
attending to you, you'd be dead.” Dr. Morgan looked to David and said, “The
ingratitude. Not even a thank you.”

  David
laughed a bit at the comic relief, then added, “Damn Rebs.”

  Both
men chuckled a bit, then made their way back to the old farmhouse for another
long session of operating.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  The
hours turned into days and the days turned into weeks as the teams of medical
personnel worked on the thousands of wounded soldiers. Among the Union wounded,
many Confederate wounded were treated too, and kept under guard until they were
deemed satisfactory for travel to prison camps. With each passing day, more
wounded were transported from the crude confines of the old farmhouses and
barns to the regular Union military hospitals.

  David
and Dr. Morgan kept a careful watch over the young John Starnes as his
condition improved. Soon he was able to sit up on his own, and was making great
strides toward walking. David knew that other Confederates with greater wounds
were leaving for the prison camps. Pvt. Starnes' life was no longer in danger,
and his health was improving by the day. With so many others with more pressing
concerns, John Starnes' time had come. He would be leaving in the morning for
prison.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  The
fire started out as a careless ember and was allowed to grow unchecked.
Outside, the fire grew from the fire ring that boiled water for surgery, across
the open yard and up the front porch of the old farmhouse. As the winds fanned
the flames, it quickly grew out of control, carrying with it heavy smoke that
signaled the first signs of trouble.

  Inside
the farmhouse, the oil lamps burned brightly, lighting the tables that held the
wounded soldiers. The surgeons worked as they always worked; at a harried pace,
racing against time as the effects of chloroform wore off. The stench of
disease and rotting flesh hung heavy like a blanket as the doctors tried to
concentrate on serious matters. As the smoke wafted into the farmhouse, at
first the pleasant aroma of seasoned oak and birch soothed their senses as it
masked other offending odors, but quickly, smoke began to fill the rooms,
alarming all inside of the pressing danger that crept up the front porch.

  In
minutes, a call for help rang out, and all inhabitants evacuated the farmhouse.
As the fire spread, every available man came to the rescue with buckets of
water from the nearby creek. Although they worked feverishly, their efforts
were in vain. As they extinguished one area, another raged out of control.
Within minutes, the old farmhouse became completely engulfed in flames. One
hour later, the farmhouse was reduced to nothing more than a pile of smoldering
embers.

  The
reduction in operating facilities did not reduce the wounded. With many still
in great need of medical attention, the doctors operated outside on the cold
hard ground as best they could until morning, when they could better address
the problem. After several hours, David's knees were too sore to continue. He found
a small soft area in the infirmary with the recovering wounded, and laid down
for a moment of much needed rest.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

 
“Sergeant, search these stalls,” Lt. Decker ordered.

  “Yes
sir,” Sgt. Ripley replied.

  Sgt.
Ripley and a few of his men began to check the wounded soldiers of each stall.
Many of them lay on their stomachs due to injuries from behind, and the rough
searches by the sergeant's men at times produced cries of pain as the wounded
were rolled over for identification.

  David
woke from his sound sleep upon hearing the screams from the stall across from
him. He sat up and watched in horror as two soldiers roughly turned over a
resting man and demanded his name and rank. Satisfied, they moved onto the next
resting soldier. David immediately stood and ran to the aid of the next man in
line of rough treatment. Grabbing one of the offending soldiers from behind,
David stuck out his foot and hurled the man backward, tripping him over his leg
and throwing him to the ground. Quickly, as he turned around, he saw the other
soldier in question turn toward him. David looked down at the wounded man that
had been roughly handled. He could still see the painful expression on his face
from the moments before. Enraged by this injustice, David curled his fist and
drove it into the offending soldier’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.

  A few
stalls away, Lt. Decker and Sgt. Ripley were discussing strategy when they saw
two of their men being roughly handled by another soldier. Instinctively the
lieutenant drew his pistol and ran toward David with Sgt. Ripley right behind
him.

  From
inside the stall, David heard the rush of footsteps racing toward him. He
quickly spun around to defend himself when he heard the lieutenant’s voice.

  “Halt
where you are, soldier, and present yourself,” Lt. Decker said as he approached
David's stall.

 
Seconds later David and Second Lt. Decker stood face to face. He immediately recognized
David as well as the first lieutenant’s bars on David's shoulders. Realizing
that David outranked him, he quickly holstered his pistol and tried to address
him.

  David
was in no mood for pleasantries, “What the HELL do you people think you're doing?”
David yelled.

  The
startled lieutenant stammered a moment, trying to find an answer.

  “I
want an answer and I want it now, God dammit,” David yelled again, now even
more inflamed at the lieutenant’s slow response. Before the lieutenant could answer,
David continued, “Do you always make it a habit of roughing up the wounded boys
who helped to save your sorry asses? These men are badly wounded. They are in
pain, and the thanks they get is you morons inflicting further pain and
suffering on them. I oughta have you assholes taken out and shot!”

 
David's red face and piercing dark eyes told the story of his anger. Rarely in
his life had he felt such rage and contempt for anyone. He stared into the
faces of the two men, now standing firmly at attention. He could see fear in
their eyes. Suddenly, David realized his temper was out of control. He took a
deep breath, spun around and walked a few paces away from the men. Regaining
some composure, he turned back toward them and continued his interrogation.

  “Ok,
you. Sergeant, what are your men doing here roughing up the wounded?” David
demanded, now standing only inches from the man's nose.

  In
shameful tone, the sergeant cleared his throat and began, “Sir, I am sorry. You
are correct in your assessment. We are indeed morons. We have no right to harm
the men that we have fought beside. They deserve better treatment than this. As
God watches over me, I will ensure that this never happens again.”

  “Very
good, sergeant. Way to suck up to the boss. Now, while I'm digging your nose
out of my ass, why don't you enlighten me in just what the HELL you're doing
here in the first place?” David retorted back acidly.

  “Sir,
if I may,” Lt. Decker delicately cut in.

  David,
glared at him for a moment in contempt, then nodded.

  “Sir,
during the fire last night, a few wounded prisoners escaped. We don't think
they have gotten too far, but we need to search the grounds to be sure they're
not here hiding amongst the other wounded,” Lt. Decker said. “As for the
behavior you've just witnessed, I take full responsibility for the men beneath
me. This won't happen again,” he finished in a subtle plea for leniency.

 
“Escaped? Who escaped? Is Pvt. Starnes one of the men you're looking for?”
David asked.

  “Yes sir.
Have you seen him?” Lt. Decker inquired, in respectful tone.

  David
nodded, “Before the fire. I changed his bandage.” He thought for a moment about
what needed to be done then continued, “Ok, here's the deal. You can search the
stalls quietly. The men who are on their stomachs are there for a reason, so
don't even think about disturbing them. Most of these men are in grave
condition. Their lives hang by a thread. If you even think that you might cause
them discomfort, I want you to stop and remember my words.” David paused for
effect then continued, “It doesn't take a genius to spot a gray coat. Look in
the stall. If you don't see gray, turn away. It's that simple. If I hear one
peep from the wounded, I'll personally come and chain your sorry asses to a
wagon wheel and roll you over to Johnny Reb, all the while singing the Battle
hymn of the Republic. Is any of this unclear to you two idiots?”

  “No,
sir,” both men replied together in perfect timing.

  “Now
I'm going back to sleep, and I better not be disturbed. Is this unclear?” David
snapped again.

  “No,
sir,” both men replied together, once again in perfect timing.

  “Go,”
David said bluntly.

  The
two saluted and hurried away.

  David stared
at them for a moment, then walked back to his stall. As he laid down, he
thought about Pvt. Starnes. Shaking his head, he said to himself, “What a waste
of time. Like a man with a gaping hole in his stomach has much chance of
throwing a rock, let alone fighting again in this war. It will be a long time
before he even thinks about picking up another weapon.”

  Moments
later, exhaustion hit David hard. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep
sleep.

  Less
than an hour later, Dr. Morgan burst into David's stall, his voice quivering
with anticipation.

 
“David, David, wake up. Wake up, lad. You were right,” Dr. Morgan shouted as he
shook David from his sound sleep. “Come on, lad, wake up. You have to hear the
news.”

  David
rolled over slowly and tried to focus on his old friend.

 
“David, do you remember the march where you told me about future events?” Dr.
Morgan said excitedly.

  “Doc,
I'm so tired. Can't this wait until I've had a few hours of sleep?” David said
in a groggy tone.

  “Well,
I suppose it could,” Dr. Morgan replied, answering with sincere logic. He
thought about his answer, then continued, “Yes, yes, I suppose it could wait,
but I do believe you want to hear this,” he finished, his anticipation getting
the better of him.