A soldiers Story

Sara woke up with a big yawn and looked around. Getting out of bed she headed for the window to peek outside. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky had already turned orange. Her dad and the rest of the Cartwright's would probably still be in bed. Stretching herself she looked to her bed trying to decide if she should go back, go downstairs or crawl into her dad's bed. Deciding the last option was the best she carefully opened the door and tiptoed over to Adam's room.

She paused and looked over to the guestroom, suddenly remembering the strange visitor that had arrived late last night. Surely she could take a sneak view at the man, while everybody was still fast asleep. Quickly and quietly she hurried over to the guestroom and put her hand against the door. Slowly, she pushed it open, holding her breath when it creaked. Before heading in, she threw a quick look over her shoulder and entered. The man was lying on his back, but she couldn't see much. It was still dark. Carefully Sara tip toed over to the bedside table. There was sure to be some matches and an oil lamp.

The man didn't wake up as she stood at his side, but she still couldn't see him well. Tracing her finger over the bedside table she found a packet of matches. She cast one last look to the door then lit the lamp. Raising it high up in the air she took a good look at the man. The fright she got as she spotted his face nearly caused her to drop the light. The man looked like a troll, just like the pictures in the books her daddy's had read to her. He was still asleep.

I wonder what his skin feels like? She wondered. Her curiosity won over her fear and she raised an arm. However, she was still afraid enough to hesitate a moment before she touched his face. But then she shrugged and ran a finger along his cheekbone and the deep scars there.

The man woke up, then screamed. Startled, he gave Sara a push and fell out of the bed on the other side groaning from the sudden pain in his leg. Sara fell roughly on her backside and let out a small yelp, more of surprise than of pain. The lamp fell to the ground. Sara quickly picked it up before any of the oil spilt on the rug. However the base was hot, causing her to hiss from the sudden burn to her small hand.

Rhys shook his head, wide awake now with pain. At least it had chased away the rest of the dream, that had been torturing him; he had still been in the war. With a shudder he remembered the Second Battle at Bull Run.

As his eye adjusted to the light, or lack of, he peered over the bed and spotted a small girl in a nightgown staring at him with a horrified expression. He realized that he too was sitting on the floor and quickly hoisted himself up into the bed again. She had given him quite a scare and she seemed to have gotten one too.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, then spotted her nursing her hand with a lamp sitting on the floor beside her. She must have burnt herself, when she had examined him. Feeling guilty that she had been hurt, he reached out for the light, still flickering on the ground. The child didn't move. He put it back on the bedside table and turned towards her again.

Sara was still staring at him curiosity written all over her face. He gave her a weak smile and went to swing his legs of the bed to sit up, but stopped the movement abruptly, when he felt the sharp pain of his old wound.

Groaning he lay down again and motioned her over to him. After hesitating a moment, she came a few steps closer to him. Slowly, not wanting to scare her again, Rhys took her hand in his and examined her burn. He dipped a flannel in the glass of water that sat on his table and pressed the wet cloth against her skin, cooling and numbing the small burn.

"All better now?" He asked softly.

The girl nodded shyly. "Thank you sir."

"You're welcome little girl." He replied giving her a small grin.

Sara smiled back weakly and Rhys turned his head away from her not wanting her to see his horrible scars any longer than necessary.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, little girl. Ah didn't mean to, but you frightened me."

"My name's Sara, not little girl." Came the silent reply and the she added, "And ya didn't scare me at all."

Rhys chuckled. "Mah apologizes, Miss Sara."

"It's okay, daddy said I ain't allowed to see ya yet anyway, because you're hurt…" She fidgeted nervously as he turned his head to look at her again.

"Exactly, that's why I'm asking myself why a certain young lady decided to disobey her father." Came suddenly came a deep baritone voice from the door.

Sara squeaked and spun around. "D….d-d-daddy. I-I-I-I…. uhm... he..." She stammered trying to think of a good explanation why she wasn't in her bed, where she was supposed to.

"Get back in your bed, Sara. It's still too early for little girls to wander around and especially disturbing a man who needs some sleep and is recovering from a bad injury."

"It isn't too bad." Rhys tried to intervene.

"I know what I saw yesterday, Mister….?" Adam interrupted, then threw him a questioning look.

"Heavens, mah name is Rhys Heavens." He quickly replied.

"My name's Adam Cartwright, but let's continue our discussion on a better time, not in the middle of the night." He turned a stern glare towards Sara who gulped and moved both hands back to her backside. "Sara, apologize and then get back in your bed."

"Yes sir." She whispered bashfully. "Sorry for wakin' ya up Mister Heavens." She said then scurried out of his room, leaving Rhys alone.

As the door closed, Rhys heard the low scolding of a father and the tearful apologizes of a contrite child. He winced when he heard a resounding smack and the following yelp. As the house became quiet again, Rhys sank back to sleep and the dreams that had been haunting him before, returned.

Flashback

It had been four weeks since he had been recruited into the army. Rhys grabbed the rifle tighter and looked through the site, aiming it at the officer of a small group of soldiers. They were only ten, but the others were just a small group of scouts. He put the finger against the trigger and aimed directly at the heart of the officer. Then he pulled it.

Rhys knew that something was wrong, when he heard the hammer hitting the bullet casing. The sound was too muffled. He felt the heat, before he heard the explosion. It felt as if someone pressed a branding iron on the left side of his head. Then he dropped to the ground without uttering a sound.

Rhys woke up to the feeling of a wet cloth pressed against the side of his head. With an agonized groan he tried to twist away.

"Hey, Rhys! Don't die! You still have to get your little sis. She'll get furious if you kick the bucket now." Thomas muttered while he continued to wash his wound out. He had known Rhys since they had both joined the army.

Rhys senses were drowned into a world of pain. He didn't recall being picked up, or being carried the mile to the doctoring tents and the front lines closest thing to a hospital.

His dream blurred and transformed again and he found himself back at the Second Battle of Manassas (also known as Second Battle of Bull Run). He could actually feel the sun burning down on his neck and dust of the road swirling around them, making breathing an arduous business. Thomas had given him a soaked cloth which he had tied in front of his nose and mouth, but so much dust stuck to it, that it was nearly impossible to catch any clean air.

"Only ten more miles!" One officer yelled and rode along the line of soldiers marching along the road.

"Only, only. Ah bet this self-important dandy, wouldn't last one mile with our package." Rhys grumbled, causing Thomas to chuckle.

"Well, it's always like this. The soldiers win the battles, but it's the Generals name you remember." Thomas replied.

"At least Major General Jackson is famous for his victories, so Ah know that not an incompetent bastard is leading us."

"Save your breath Rhys, we still got ten more miles to walk. We're famous for our long marches." Thomas grinned. "Jackson will teach them a harsh lesson in strategy." He mimicked.

"Ah hope so." Rhys muttered under his breath so no one heard him. He had no intentions of dying in this war. Casting a quick glance up at the sky, he spotted the dark clouds. Cursing he looked down again. At least the rain would put a stop to the dust, though, it would turn the road into mud and make the marching even more exhausting.

The rain had been pouring down for several hours as they set up camp behind an unfinished railroad. Just as they had finished setting the camp up the rain had suddenly stopped as if someone had shut off a water pump. Sitting in his tent Rhys, took of his boots and inspected his feet. They looked quite good. Only a few blisters here and there. He grabbed one of his spare-shirts and took out his bayonet. Cutting off a part of one sleeve he slit it into stripes with which he carefully bandaged his feet.

"How are you doing?" He looked up and spotted Thomas peering into his tent.

"Just some blisters, that's all."

"Good, then come and grab some food. You have to eat while you're walking. Our Scouts have spotted a Union force near a farm. They're about two thousand men. Jackson has ordered our division and some more to attack. We're six thousand against two thousand. That'll be an easy victory." The soldier grinned.

Groaning Rhys got to his feet again and grabbed his Enfield Rifled Musket. "Yet, still many of us will die there." He replied with a grim face.

"We'll see about that. Come now you pessimist." He patted Rhys' back as he made his way out of the tent.

They both quickly ran to their ranks with their weapons ready as they heard the sound of heavy artillery fire.

Their commander Colonel William Baylor rode up to them and ordered them to march. They heard gunfire all too soon, as they approached the battle scene.

"REMEMBER! YOU'RE JACKSON'S STONEWALL BRIGADE! YOU NEVER WAVER, NOR DO YOU FLEE! NOW TEACH THESE YANKEES A BLOODY LESSON!" The colonel yelled.

Rhys squinted his eyes trying to discern the battle in front of him. With the smoke of battle, nightfall seemed to come all too quickly. Rhys hated fighting in the dark. All of sudden he spotted men in front of him and they were wearing blue.

He heard roared orders and loaded his gun, took aim and fired. Seemingly untouched the men came closer took aim and fired, while others reloaded. From everywhere he heard screams of pain as the bullets hit their targets. He glanced to the left and spotted Thomas frantically reloading his gun. The puff of smoke from all the guns coalesced created a nearly impenetrable wall of smoldering air, effectively covering the enemy.

Rhys looked around; there was almost no cover anywhere.

"TAKE AIM!"

He heard the order and moved automatically.

"FIRE!"

Again he moved without thinking, just trying to press away the urge to run and take cover. This was insane. The others were fewer and they just stood there and kept firing at each other like some damn puppets. Why didn't the Union retreat?

A bullet whizzed past his head, so close that he could hear it. The firing of volleys went on and on, an endless nightmare he was unable run from. Suddenly he heard someone groan just left from him, but he didn't look in the direction of the noise. He couldn't help, so he just kept firing.

After almost two hours of constant volleys, the Union finally started to retreat and so did the Confederates. Rhys turned to Thomas, but another now stood in his place. Panic gripped him and he searched the ground, finally spotting his friend; the one that had carried him all those times. He was dead. A bullet had taken him directly in the chest.

Rhys woke up with a scream.

End Flashback

TBC

Thank you for beta-reading it so quickly Gaben and as for the others I thank everyone who reviewed and it would be nice if you would do it again :)

Happy new Year!