Chesterfield sat upon his brown stallion, awaiting the call to charge. In front of him, Captain Stark glared at the sight below them.
At the bottom of the grassy hill, nestled in the valley, was a small town. Deserted and broken down, it resembled a ghost town, the very picture of desolation and destruction. It had contained a half-dozen houses, a church, and a small brick school house. At least, it had been brick...it was now little more than a smoldering pile of dust and rubble. The Confederates had already attacked the little village, chasing away its inhabitants and leveling most of the building to the ground.
Chesterfield saw Blutch squirm at his side. The Corporal seemed far more agitated than usual. Even Arabesque, Blutch's gray mere, seemed uneasy.
Far within the shadows of the decimated village, the grey coats of the Confederate army peeked, preparing to fight from behind the protection of the town's battered walls.
Blutch looked down at the valley in dismay. Another beautiful place lay in ruins. His heart filled with sadness, quickly followed by anger. Men, women, and children had once called that place their home. They had been forced to flee, leaving everything behind. Who knew were they were now. Homeless...helpless...
Another wave of dizziness swept over the Corporal, though not as severe as before. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing quickly and gripping Arabesque's mane to steady himself as he felt his heart rate skyrocket. The feeling quickly faded, and he opened his eyes again. He glanced around, noticing that Chesterfield was watching him. Turning slightly red, Blutch quickly looked away, focusing his attention back on the village.
Chesterfield gave him a puzzled look, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shrugged. Blutch was probably thinking of a way to get out of the charge, as usual. He'd have to keep an eye on him.
Stark gazed steadily out into space, posed in dramatic stillness as he sized up the small Confederate troop hiding in the village below. Sensing the time had come, Stark slowly drew his sword, the morning sun reflecting of it's polished blade. He raised it above his head, bearded face stern and serious. He took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, before letting it out in a terrific bellow.
"CHAAAAARRRGE!"
THUD!
Chesterfield knew the sound. As he and every other loyal soldier launched their horses forward into the dangers of battle, he knew that Arabesque was lying in a heap behind him. Blutch had trained the old mare to faint at that one hollered word. The Sargent snarled in disgust. Blutch didn't have the courage, nor the will to fight! He was a coward, a disloyal little pipsqueak...at least, so Chesterfield thought every time he heard that familiar sound.
Too irritated to even glance back, Chesterfield rushed on ahead, adrenaline and anger coursing through his veins. He was slightly ahead of Stark now, and the Captain shot him an annoyed glance, like an actor cheated out of his star role.
In a flurry of confusion and a deafening thunder of hooves, the 22nd carvery headed for the village. A Confederate gun went off, followed by many others. In a tirade of yelling and shots, the Union army clashed with the oncoming Rebels.
...
Blutch struggled to push his grey horse off of him, muttering darkly. The old mare lay in a heap across his legs, eyes closed tightly, and tongue sticking limply out one side of her mouth.
Freeing one foot, and than the other, Blutch glared at the lazy monster he had created. Most days he would have been proud of the beasts fine example of his creative training, but today it was different. Absorbed in thought, Blutch had had no time to brace himself when the call to charge was given. In a flash, he dropped heavily to the ground, the full weight of the horse on top of him.
"Arabesque," he commanded angrily, "Get up! We have to go down there!"
The horse gave him a look of horror, like he'd gone out of his mind.
"Not into battle," he added quickly, "Just to get...a better look at the town."
Arabesque remained were she was, blinking stupidly, gazing at him. A moment went by...
"Fine!" Blutch growled, "Stay here, but I'm going!"
The horse lay it's head back down, as if to say she couldn't care less.
"Fine!" Blutch said again, turning as he stomped away, "But don't expect a carrot later!"
The horse took a bite of grass, chewing it thoughtfully as her master started towards the battle below.
...
Moving swiftly, the young Corporal made his way to a small forest nearby. If he stayed within its cover he would be able to pass fairly close to the village without being seen. The battle itself was taking place outside the town, in a trampled field of what once might have been for corn. Blutch could hear the thunder of hooves and the piercing explosion of gunshots from his hiding place. The Corporal grimaced. More bloodshed. When would this horror be over?
He felt that same, almost familiar, dizziness threaten to resurface, and quickly shut his eyes taking deep, calming breaths. This seemed to delay the usual severity of the attack; and it diminished at once. Reopening his eyes, he frowned as he began to make his way through the forest. This was beginning to get annoying. He couldn't put his life on hold every time he felt a little dizzy. Maybe he would go visit the doc when they returned to camp...if this continued.
Having effectively avoided the conflict, the Corporal finally reached a spot in the woods parallel to the village ruins. Looking about, he determined that it was safe, and in a agile bound, raced from the cover of the trees to the sad shadows of the eradicated metropolis.
The streets were littered with shoes, hats, books, and other homely goods. They lay in the dust, a depressing witness to the population's hasty and sudden departure. Bricks and splintered wood spilled out from several gaping holes in the sides of the two closest buildings.
Blutch slowly made his way along the various streets and alleys. He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find, nor why he had felt the need to come to this place so strongly at all. Normally, he would have stayed with Arabesque, out of harms way. However, since he first set his eyes on the village, he had begun to feel uneasy. Now, with each wary step, that uneasiness grew.
There was no sign of life, or movement. All seemed dreadfully quiet. The rebels had apparently deemed it unnecessary to post sentries to guard their temporary 'base'. Not that there was anything left worth guarding.
The Corporal passed the abandoned homes, and what remained of the village church. Now he stood beside the skeletal remains of the smoldering schoolhouse. Smoke still sifted upwards from the charred wood. Unlike most of the other buildings, it showed no sign of cannon bombardment, only fire. It had literally been burned to the ground. It remained only a pile of rubble, a marker of what must have been the prize edition to such a small community.
A sudden sound caused Blutch to jump. In the deafening silence, the nearly inaudible noise seemed far louder then it truly was. A clatter...or a shuffle, followed by a small cry. Blutch leaned in closer, realizing with horror that it had come from the school wreckage. Rushing forward, the bluecoat started to dig into the debris. Some of the wood was still hot, burning his fingers as he grabbed them and threw them aside, but he didn't care. If there was someone beneath all that destruction, they would need help, and fast.
After moving a considerable amount of wood and stone, Blutch realized that there was a small alcove underneath, what very well may have once served as the basement to the schoolhouse. As he began to clear more away, a tiny hand reached from the darkness, latching onto his wrist, startling the poor Corporal terribly. It was a child's hand, and from the inky blackness below he could here a soft whimper. It finally sunk in what was going on. There was a child trapped under the schoolhouse!
Allowing the child to keep it's frightened grip on his arm, Blutch continued to clear away the mess with his free hand.
"It's alright," he said softly, trying to comfort the kid. "I'll get you out of there, just hang on."
The child didn't answer, but it's hold tightened, confirming that he had at least been heard.
As soon as the hole was large enough, Blutch, still held by the wrist, carefully eased himself into the dank cavity. It was terribly dark, and badly reeked of soot. Coughing the foul air out of his lungs, Blutch tried to get his eyes to adjust to the dark. Suddenly, the little hand left his wrist and he felt something latch onto his front, tightly. The child had him in a rigid embrace, nearly cutting off his air all together. He freed one of his arms from the desperate hug, and patted the kid's back uncomfortably. The youngster's shoulders shook in silent sobs, and the Corporal felt the awkwardness evaporate instantly.
He hugged back, whispering softly, "Sshhhh. It's alright. You're safe now. I'll get you out of here o.k.?"
He felt the little one nod, still wrapped firmly around his middle.
"But you'll have to let go," he added, gently. Reluctantly, the small arms recoiled and the hand grabbed his wrist once more. Taking the kid toward the opening, he carefully lifted the tyke up and through, following right after.
The brightness of the summer morning was painful after the dark recesses of the basement, and it took a moment before Blutch's eyes readjusted to the light of day. Blinking the fuzzy haze away, he glanced down to get a good look at the tiny person beside him. The Corporal was surprised to see that it was a little girl, who couldn't have been more than seven years old. She had red little curls of hair framing her sweet face, from which two bright blue eyes starred in fear. Her hand slipped from his as she recognized his uniform in horror.
It was not like the uniform that the soldiers who had attacked the town had wore, they had been grey, this was blue. However, it was a uniform of a military man, and the youngster's impression of such men was not a pleasant one.
She turned to run, but a night crying under a wreck of masonry, had left her exhausted and unbalanced. She fell to the ground with a strangled cry.
Blutch rushed to her side to help, stopping when she tried to shimmy away from him.
"It's alright," the Corporal said softly, "I wont hurt you. I want to help." She still looked reluctant. "My name is Blutch."
She starred at him a moment, then a small smiled began to creep into her face. "B-Blutch?" She asked, suppressing a giggle, "That's a funny name."
The soldier returned the smile, glad to see she was unharmed. "Yes," he said, with a grin, "I suppose it is a little...unusual."
He sat down on the ground beside her, and this time she didn't move away. "What's your name?"
"Clara," came the sweet reply.
"How did you end up down in that basement?"
Her frown returned. "I was hiding from the grey soldiers. They were attacking us," she said bitterly. "I was scared." Tears threatened to collect in her almond shaped eyes.
"Where were your parents? Your teacher? The other children?"
"I don't know," she cried, once again flinging herself around him.
"Oh..." Blutch coughed nervously, "Well, it's o.k., we'll find them." Those bright eyes turned up to him, pleadingly.
"We will?"
The Corporal gulped, "Sure we will...but right now we'd best get you somewhere safe."
He stood up, helping the little girl to her feet. She shivered slightly. It was summertime, but this morning the air was unusually crisp. Her clothes were torn and tattered, allowing the coolness to affect her more easily.
Unbuttoning his blue jacket, Blutch placed in on her shoulders. Despite his small size, the coat enveloped the child's features like a flowing robe. Without protest, Clara pulled her arms through the sleeves, glad to feel the warmth it provided.
Turning and crouching down with his back toward her, Blutch motioned for her to climb onto his back. With a squeal of joy, Clara jumped up, nearly knocking him off balance. With a soft grunt, the Corporal stood and began making his way back through the ruined village.
Clara remained silent for most of the walk, sadly taking in the destruction that had befallen her home. Soon they reached the forest, and the Corporal carefully made his way through the trees.
Curiosity getting the best of her, Clara finally spoke.
"Where are we going?"
"To my army's camp," her new friend replied, slightly out of breath. The kid didn't weigh much, but any burden grew heavy when carried for a long distance. "You'll be safe there."
"Are their other soldiers at your camp?'' Clara asked nervously," Like you?"
Blutch grinned, "Well, there are other soldiers, but none like me."
Clara giggled.
"No one there will hurt you," Blutch continued, "But all the same, lets try and keep you out of sight."
"Why?"
"I have to talk to someone first, before the general sees you. O.K.?"
Clara didn't quite understand that answer, but she had a very trusting spirit. "O.K." she said.
It would take them some time to make it back to camp by foot. By the quiet stillness, Blutch could tell the battle had long since ended. The field was empty, except for the motionless lumps he knew to be dead bodies from the fight. He made sure the little one on his back didn't see them, as he turned a little deeper into the forest. His arms and legs were starting to ache, but he couldn't put his burden down, she was probably too weak to walk. This was confirmed as he felt her body become slightly heavier as sleep overtook the little child on his back.
