Dr. Leonard H. McCoy let out a cry of shock as he went flying down onto the solid ground. He stumbled to lift himself as he felt the mushy Earth slide underneath his grip. He grunted as he slipped back forward at an attempt to stand. He laid there for a minute, too aggravated to get up. The Chief Medical Officer listened quietly, as still as a mouse when there was a cat lurking nearby. He could make out load booms coming off in the distance. They rung continually in his ears. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was the 4th of July, but there was an eerie feeling about all of this that sent a shiver down his spine. McCoy closed his eyes, trying to recall his last memory. He, Jim, Spock, and Uhura were studying the Guardian of Forever, trying to gain as much information as possible. "Damn." He muttered quietly to himself. He'd accidentally tripped and fallen through the ancient time portal. He searched his mind to try to remember what time period it had been fixed on, but he couldn't recall it clearly. He fumbled to gain balance on his knees in the mud puddle where he'd landed. He felt the delicate drops of rain trickle down his cheek and drip on his skin. McCoy let out a heavy sigh. He was answered by a low groan from nearby. He wiped the mud from his eyes with his knuckles. "Hello. Is anyone there?" McCoy called into the darkness from the rain clouds and trees. He noted that he was in some kind of forest.
A weak reply came from his left. "What side is you'uns?"
It was a Southern drawl no doubt, McCoy concluded. Louisiana. What did he mean by what side, though? "What? I'm a doctor. Where are you?"
He heard a sharp cough, more of a wheezing, come from behind a nearby tree. He crawled over to the sickly voice. "Stay back," the voice said, threateningly.
"You're in no condition to make threats by the sound of your voice, boy." Another cough. McCoy rounded his way around the large trunk to see a boy; maybe seventeen at the most, look at him. His brown eyes wide with fear. The boy was soaking wet and his dark brown hair was plastered to his head. A streak of lightning strung out in the sky, followed by a roar of thunder. What shook McCoy was the spread out dark red stain on the boy's white shirt underneath an open grey jacket. The jacket seemed to be too large for the boy. The Louisianan's right fist was clutching the wound tightly, though, visibly shaking from cold and blood loss. "Where are ya from?" The boy asked through clenched teeth.
"Georgia." McCoy answered. The boy visibly relaxed. Odd, McCoy thought. "Here let me have a look at that there wound." The boy eased his hand off so McCoy could take a look. McCoy ripped the white shirt's fabric to get a better view of the wound. "Dr. Leonard McCoy, though I reckon a hand shake wouldn't fit at the moment."
The boy let out a weak chuckle. "Elias Clarke, 16th Louisiana." A bullet had gone clear through his lower chest, breaking only one of his ribs, thank God. If he could find something to act as a bandage and some sort of shelter, he was sure he could save the boy.
"16th Louisiana, huh, that sort of sounds like we're in the Civil-." McCoy broke off his sentence at the sound of horse's hooves and a deep voice.
"Well, look what we got here boys! Two rebs trying to help each other, ain't that sweet." He saw Elias scowl at the chuckles. He turned to see three men in a dark blue uniform mounted on three horses.
It all became clear to McCoy. He'd been thrown back in time during the Civil War! "Ah, Hell." McCoy muttered to himself. Elias tried to get up and McCoy held him back.
"C'mon, let him fight." The sandy blonde on the left smirked.
"That ain't no uniform? What kind of soldier are you?" The leader, who had spoken earlier, said. He was a fairly tall man with a bushy mustache. McCoy looked down, remembering for the first time that he was wearing his Starfleet uniform.
"I'm a doctor, dammit, not a soldier." McCoy growled at the Union soldiers.
"Well, I'm sure McClellan wouldn't mind some more prisoners." The sandy blonde smirked.
Elias glared at the three riders. "Ya Yanks wouldn't mind anything right, now." He spat. "McClellan's noth'in but a damn fool. Everything has to be perfect before he sends his precious Yanks into battle." Elias snickered. "At least General Lee knows when to strike." His eyes glistened with satisfaction as the three Union soldiers snarled. McCoy tilted his head at these sentences. So, McClellan was still the top General. They were still somewhat early in the war.
"You take that back, butternut!" The final rider yelled. His red hair dimmed to a dark brown from the darkness.
"Make me!" He sounded like in an argument with a parent. Though, the boy probably was doing that not that long ago.
McCoy winced as three swift shots rang past his ear. A puff of smoke hovered in front of a gleaming pistol drawn by the leader of the pack, his face glaring with hate. McCoy's eyes shot back to Elias Clarke. The Louisianan slumped back on the trunk of the tree, his eyes wide and glassy. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of the dead soldier's mouth. "For God's sakes, he was just a kid!" McCoy cried out.
The same pistol clicked, the trigger setting to be pulled. McCoy found the end of the gun facing him. "And now he's a dead kid. Sorry Doc," the man said, however, McCoy knew he wasn't sorry. "Can't have you going around healing the Johnny Rebs."
McCoy snapped his eyes shut. Damn, if only he hadn't tripped. He wondered what Jim and Spock were doing right now. Were they somewhere here now, looking for him? The way things were right now, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to find him. They'd either find his corpse, or three trigger ready Union soldiers. Instead of hearing the shot of his death, McCoy heard a forth horse ride up, and in a hurry at that. McCoy opened an eye to see a new Union soldier ride up. He glanced down at McCoy with a puzzled look, and then turned to his three comrades. "Rebs," he said, his voice panting. "A whole pack of them, right behind me. We better get out of here." As if on timing, a loud shout of Rebel's parading came not to far off in distance.
The three men pulled the reins of their horses. "You got lucky this time, Doc." The leader snarled, retracting his pistol. "Getty up!" The four men disappeared in a dead fast pace.
McCoy let out a huge sigh of relief as they rode out of view. "Out of all the stupid times to fall in!" McCoy muttered in disgust. He wondered if there was a battle going on, or if this was just a skirmish. The heard the booms again in the distance. Cannons. He was in a battle all right, but what one? He looked back at the dead Louisianan. Just a kid, he thought in disgust. If it wasn't a war, what had just happened would be considered cold hard murder. War did bring out the worst in men. He was no doubt sixteen, probably lied and said he was eighteen to be enlisted. "What a waste." Right now, he was dressed on neither side. Not good for a person who talked like a Yankee, but was from the South. Reluctantly, he removed the Confederate coat from Elias's corpse. The uniform's coat was too large on Clarke, but fit nicely on him as he slid his arms inside the jacket. He sighed. This uniform jacket might save him, or it might get him killed. Either way, it hid his questionable Starfleet uniform. The rain dripped from the leaves and landed onto his head as he scouted through the dense woods, hoping and praying that he'd come upon a house or some type of shelter.
It'd been quite some time since he'd started walking, and, to his satisfaction, he had failed to run into anyone, except two corpses. Both Union. Unfortunately, the maze of trees continued to cage him in. His nauseas stomach had settled itself at the adjustment of getting used to the smell of sweat and dried blood, two things that reeked in the whole area. He lifted a tree branch with his hand and bent under it. He froze at the click of a gun's trigger. "Hold it right there, Reb."