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The morning sun was just cresting on the eastern horizon as Captain Athos saw the figure of a man pulling himself with great difficulty toward their position at the bridge. He pulled out his main gauche and stood ready until the figure got closer.
A ray of sunlight highlighted the Musketeer's pauldron as the man pulled himself through the tall grass with bloodied hands. "Captain…" Musketeer Béringer said just before he collapsed.
"Oh God," d'Artagnan jumped out from his position, where he was also watching the approaching figure, to go retrieve the wounded man.
"d'Artagnan, no!" yelled the captain to the foolhardy Musketeer but the young Gascon was already halfway up the hill to help bring the man back to safety. The captain watched anxiously, his eyes darting all around the hillside looking for signs of the enemy.
d'Artagnan grabbed the Musketeer by his doublet and pulled as he ran back down the hill with his patient in tow. "Sorry, Béringer, but I don't have time to be gentle here," the Gascon apologized as he dragged the man quickly toward the bridge. "It's better to be dragged to safety than to be shot as we take our sweet time!"
A sudden a shot rang out, the ball kicked up dust as it hit the ground near d'Artagnan's foot. "Damn, that was close!" the Gascon muttered as he reached the safety of the bridge.
"That was a foolish thing to do!" Athos snapped as he grabbed d'Artagnan by the arm. "You could have gotten yourself shot—you damn near did!"
"I did what I had to do to save a wounded brother," d'Artagnan snapped back, jerking his arm away. "You would've done the same thing, before…"
"As captain, I can't afford to take foolish chances," Athos countered. "Don't be so eager to make yourself a target," the captain's tone softened. Besides, could he really fault d'Artagnan for being foolish in his actions when he saw so much of himself in his young protégé?
Aramis was already tending to the wounded man but judging from the severity of the bleeding and the medic's frown, Athos was not anticipating good news. "How is he, 'Mis?"
"Dammit!" Aramis cursed, feeling completely helpless and unable to do anything but make Béringer comfortable. "Not good, Captain, he's in bad shape and I have nothing here to help him. Dammit to hell!" the medic threw aside his hat in frustration.
"Do what you can for him," Athos sighed. "I'm beginning to sound repetitive," he huffed in disgust. "My words ring hollow, even to my own ears; I'm not exactly inspiring."
"This isn't exactly an inspiring situation we're in, Athos," d'Artagnan clapped his friend on the shoulder and gently squeezed. "You've gotten us this far, Captain; I know you'll get us out of here safely."
Just then, a thunderous roar rocked the ground and shook the archway as a ball hit the bridge directly above them. Aramis leaned over Béringer as stone fragments rained down around them.
"Dammit!" Athos cursed. "Get deeper inside the archways—get away from the ends," the captain ordered, yelling over the noise of the explosions. "Get as close to the walls and the ground as you can!"
Aramis held a cloth to Béringer's chest wound to try to slow the bleeding, but the man was growing weaker. The medic knew Béringer was dying and that he was completely helpless to stop it. One more Musketeer lost to this cursed bridge; how many more will there be?
The Musketeers stayed down, riding out the attack which began their second day underneath the centuries-old bridge.
As the cannonballs hit their mark and caused showers of stone and dust, Athos wondered how long the bridge would hold up under such violent treatment. Nevertheless, he was grateful for such fine craftsmanship that has withstood hundreds of years.
There was little the Musketeers could do but endure the fiery storm until it abated, praying they would make it through unscathed. The captain needed to talk to Béringer to find out what happened to Michaud and whether they found a way into the fortress, though he was sure he already knew the answer.
Finally, after some moments of silence the men cautiously raised their heads, dazed and apprehensive of the damage they would find.
"Is everyone alright?" Athos looked around at the men huddled on the ground inside the archway, "is anyone hurt?"
"I've got a few nicks here and there," said one man on the end, "but I think we're all okay."
Athos crawled to the adjoining archway, "is anyone hurt in here?"
"DuFour and Joubert were hit, Captain," Normandeau called out. "I don't think it's serious though."
"Dammit, how many more will be hurt while we're stuck in this god-forsaken place?" Athos muttered under his breath. "Do what…" he stopped himself short, not wishing to repeat that phrase again. "Try and help them, Normandeau, please."
"Yes, Captain," the Musketeer nodded as he crawled to help his wounded comrades.
Athos crawled back to Béringer and Aramis. The medic held a soaked-through cloth tightly against the chest wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
"Béringer," Captain Athos wiped away the sweaty hair from the man's forehead. "Where is Michaud?"
"Mich… Michaud was… was stabbed, sir," the man gasped. "We made it t-to the wall… to the gate but… it's surrounded by Span… Spaniards. Like ants, they poured… poured out of their foxholes. No… no way to get to the gate," Michaud reported. "Enemy is… waiting to kill… to kill anyone that moves. Cité cant open… open gate either… or they're all dead."
Aramis and Athos exchanged horrified glances at the news. The anguished glances spoke volumes without a single word necessary to convey the dread in their hearts.
"I- I'm sssorry, C-Captain… sssorry," Béringer's head lolled to the side and he breathed no more.
"I'm sorry too, Béringer," the captain hung his head in despair as his shoulders drooped. Athos felt empty—helpless. How was he going to get his men to safety? If this continued much longer, there wouldn't be anyone left to save. "God…" his breath hitched.
He felt a comforting hand on each shoulder, squeezing gently. "We'll find another way out o' 'ere," Porthos whispered encouragingly.
"That's right, we'll think of something, Captain," d'Artagnan's eyes misted. His heart ached for his mentor who looked broken and burdened for the lives he was charged to protect. With every life lost, the burden grew heavier and the guilt heightened.
"We can't reach the fortress," Porthos motioned with his chin, "and they can't reach us. What about goin' back to Castelnaudary? Maybe the Spanish don't have the western roads watched, eh?"
"Hey, that's an idea, Athos!" d'Artagnan perked up. "Do you think it might work?"
"It could work, Athos," Aramis piped in. "We didn't see any sign of the enemy on our way here, not until we arrived at the bridge."
"That just might work," Athos nodded in agreement. "We'll wait until the cover of darkness again…" his voice trailed. "Wait," the captain frowned as a thought came to mind. "We have no horses; it's too far to walk, considering the urgency of our situation."
"We can always borrow a horse, or two," d'Artagnan suggested.
"You mean steal, don't you?" Aramis corrected with a grin.
"No one is stealing anything," the captain interrupted. "Our horses scattered when we were attacked, it's possible that they didn't go far but are lingering nearby."
The three Musketeers huffed with amusement at the thought of their horses lingering about, waiting for their owners to join them already.
"I'll send out another scout team tonight after dark," Athos resolved with a nod.
"I'd like to volunteer," three voices chimed in unison.
Later:
"No, you're not going," Athos rejected the repeated requests from his three friends to volunteer for the upcoming dangerous mission.
"Dammit, Athos," Aramis slammed his fist on the ground in frustration. "You give me one good reason, one valid reason, why Porthos or d'Artagnan or I can't go on this mission?"
"I don't have to give you a reason," Athos countered. "I am the captain and you just have to accept my decision and not question it."
"You seemed to have forgotten that we're your friends—your brothers. We've known you for years, Athos, long before you ever became captain," Aramis replied back.
"Normally, I would accept a captain's decision and no' question it," Porthos frowned, "but I'm wit' 'Mis. Why can't we go, Captain?" the Musketeer deliberately emphasized the rank.
A low growl sounded from Athos's throat, clearly losing patience with the relentless line of questioning. The captain took a deep breath, attempting to calm his rising temper. Finally, he sighed as he looked at his three friends watching him with questioning eyes.
"Rousseau and Lefévre are from the Languedoc region and they are familiar with the roads around here. They could walk the road from Carcassonne to Castelnaudary blindfolded," Athos glanced at each of his friends. "If anyone is a perfect fit for this mission, it's those two."
The three friends were silent. They knew that Athos was a highly intelligent man who studied his enemies, closely observing their maneuvers, skills and tactics, strengths and weaknesses. Further, knowing where his own men grew up then fittingly assigning them to this mission was cleverly brilliant, and even they were taken by surprise.
Porthos raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, 'at certainly makes sense."
"Hmm, I'm impressed," d'Artagnan huffed.
"Is that the real reason, Captain," Aramis narrowed his eyes, watching his friend closely. "Or is it because you don't want to send your friends out there to d…" he stopped himself short.
"Aramis!" d'Artagnan scolded.
Aramis realized his mistake as soon as it slipped from his mouth. He cringed as he watched Athos flinch, as the captain was already aware that he could be sending two more men to their deaths. If death was such a real possibility, was he playing favorites now by not sending his three best friends?
Athos turned to crawl away but Aramis caught him by the arm. "I'm sorry, Athos, I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean anything…" his breath hitched at the sadness in his friend's eyes.
Athos just shook his head and crawled away, without saying a word. He crawled to the next archway to brief Rousseau and Lefévre a final time, though they'd been through the details over and again.
"If you can't find our horses, 'borrow' some; I know there are plenty of farms around this region," Athos instructed. "Try your damnedest to get to Castelnaudary, gentlemen. I don't need to remind you how much I am counting on you to get us some help."
"Yes sir," the men replied. "You don't have to worry, Captain, we know these parts real well. We'll reach Castelnaudary, sir," said Rousseau.
"I know you will," Athos clapped them each on the shoulder. "Godspeed and good luck, boys."
The Musketeers spent the remainder of the day waiting out sporadic storms of projectiles the Spaniards would force upon them. The men hugged the ground until their bodies were numb and their ears were ringing from the constant thunderous noise.
Later That Night:
"The orders from last night stand," the captain told the groups of men in each archway. "Stay alert and listen for any noises out there. Somehow the enemy was able to sneak up on us last night—we can't let that happen again. I want men on watch at each end of your archway at all times."
Athos thought of crawling to the next archway to rejoin his three friends but decided to stay put, alone with his thoughts instead. He was worried about Rousseau and Lefévre and their safety out there in the dark. Would he be more upset at the loss of his two men, or the potential of them not reaching Castelnaudary to get help for those under the bridge?
What will I do if they don't make it? Athos quickly pushed the thought from his mind—he would not even entertain that possibility.
The three friends huddled together, trying to stay warm against the cold autumn evening. "Where is Athos?" d'Artagnan asked in a whisper.
"Prob'ly wants to be alone," Porthos guessed. "He's got a lot on his mind and we didn't 'xactly help matters, none."
"You mean, I didn't exactly help matters," Aramis corrected with a soft sigh. "I'm such an idiot. None of us can imagine the pressure he's under right now," he scrubbed a hand down his face as his heart filled with regret. "I'm going to go find him—make sure he's alright."
Aramis crawled away to find Athos, with the help of the scant moonlight, huddled near the wall in the next archway, shivering uncontrollably from the cold.
"'Roger,'" Aramis whispered. "Athos, you are one stubborn, thick-headed mule—do you know that?" Aramis chided in a harsh whisper. "It's cold," he forgot his apology. "You don't have to be out here by yourself freezing half to death."
Athos merely shook his head and drew himself in tighter, trying to stop the shaking.
Aramis sat next to Athos and pulled him in close, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. "Dammit, Athos, you are freezing!"
Athos let out a puff of frosty air which shimmered eerily in the moonlight, though he remained quiet.
"Why don't you get some rest," the medic suggested. He took in the haggard look of his captain's face, noticing the deep lines of worry etched on his forehead and around his eyes. "You haven't slept since we left Castelnaudary, Athos."
"Dammit, I can't sleep," Athos snapped. "I can't sleep when my men are dying around me and I'm helpless to stop it!"
"This isn't your fault, Athos." Aramis sat up and took his friend's chin to turn toward him. "There is nothing that you could have done to prevent this… any of this," he waved his hand around.
"I need to go check on the men," he started to pull away.
"No you don't," Aramis pulled Athos back, "you stay put and rest. I'll go get Porthos to come sit with you and then I will go check on the men. You're no good to us, Athos, if you're dead on your feet." That probably wasn't the best choice of words, Aramis thought.
The medic started to crawl away when they each heard the distinct sound of a cannon firing in the distance. From the corner of his eye, Aramis saw the flash of light just a split second before he heard the chilling whistle of an iron ball coming toward the bridge.
"Take cover!" Aramis screamed as he jumped on Athos, pushing him into the ground as the ball hit the bridge with a thunderous smack!
Screams reverberated off the walls as stone fragments went flying into the archway. Athos suddenly gasped in pain as a stone shard embedded in his shoulder, while at the same time a piece of stone ricocheted from off the opposite wall to hit him in the temple.
"Merde!" Aramis cursed as a fragment hit him on top of the head before bouncing into the dirt.
They heard another cannon fire, hitting the first pier that abutted the watery canal. Water sprayed over the bank, along with chunks of stone flying into the canal and archway alike.
The men braced themselves as they heard another cannon fire, followed by another on the hillside. The first ball landed in the river with a massive splash as it hit the water, showering the bridge and the grassy island with the spray. The second ball landed on the bridge, above the second arch. Large chunks of the parapet broke off and fell to the ground with a thud, followed by a rain of stone.
As quickly as it started, the cannon fire ended. It left a deafening silence as the men held their breath waiting for more hellfire, which never came. Silent curses were heard around the archways, but little else as the men were too stunned to move.
In the dim moonlight, Aramis could see Athos's face colored with dark streaks streaming down into his beard. "You're hit," the medic squinted to get a better look but the clouds soon rolled over the slice of moon, creating a frightening blanket of darkness.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Aramis whispered into the darkness. Despite the fact that his friend sat right beside him, he couldn't see him.
"In my right shoulder, I think I was hit with a piece of stone," Athos admitted, his voice laced with pain.
"Where in your shoulder?" Aramis felt around and hit the stone shard with his fingers, causing Athos to jump while hissing in pain.
"Dammit, don't touch!" Athos sucked in a pained breath hissing through clenched teeth. His chest heaved as he breathed through the waves of pain, clenching his eyes shut to stop the involuntary tears from rolling out.
"Merde, I can't see!" Aramis cursed into the darkness.
"It will have to wait until morning," Athos panted. "You can't help me if you can't even see what you are doing. Shouldn't be too long of a wait, it will be dawn soon."
"I need to go check on the rest of the men," the captain stated but strong hands held him fast.
"No, you stay put," the medic ordered. "If you go moving around, it'll make you bleed worse. Just stay put—I'll go check on everyone."
Aramis crawled away, leaving Athos alone once again until he could fetch Porthos to sit with him. "Rousseau and Lefévre, please make it to Castelnaudary and help us get out of here alive," Athos mumbled to himself.
Athos wasn't normally a praying man, but tonight he was willing to try anything to ensure the safety of his men. If praying would release them from this quagmire they were trapped in, he was willing to do it. This was their second night under the bridge; soon they would be facing their third day. Once again, he fully expected more hell to welcome them in the daylight.
Years ago, there was a time when he had wished for death; hoping he would find it one day at the bottom of an empty bottle—but Porthos and Aramis had other ideas. Athos never felt he deserved their friendship or their worry over him. Had it not been for his two friends, he gladly would have let himself slip away into drunken oblivion… and ultimately, death.
Tonight, he was gripped by an impossible situation in which he wanted nothing more than to find relief in a few bottles of wine. But under this bridge, it wasn't just about him anymore. Athos was Captain of the Musketeers, he had men counting on him to get them out of this situation alive.
He remembered advice former Captain Tréville offered him as they talked in his office over a drink. "The captain has all the answers and the captain always knows what to do—whether he really does or not. The men are looking to you for answers; as captain, you must never hesitate or you put them at risk."
"The captain doesn't have the excuse of indecisiveness or weakness when men depend upon him to guide them on the battlefield, or to save them from certain death in an impossible situation."
"The captain is all-knowing, all-powerful; don't ever tell the men 'I don't know.' Those three words, 'I don't know,' will kill the men in your regiment—just the same as an enemy ball."
Athos sighed and rubbed his temples as he felt the pounding of a headache starting. The captain knew that Tréville's advice was honest, and indeed wise, but even the most ingenious military commanders eventually experience loss. No one wins all of the time—everyone loses a battle eventually.
If this is what it was like to die a slow and painful death, then Athos wished the Spaniards would hurry up with the inevitable and just get it over with. If this is where he and his men were chosen to die as Musketeers, as soldiers… then he prayed for a quick and merciful end.
Minister Tréville's inspiring speech to the new Captain Athos was inspired by two speeches given to Matthew McConaughey in one of my old favorite movies from 2000, U-571.