Sorry for the wait! New chapter for you to read and enjoy!
Samuel sat on a rock at the edge of a small creek a short walk away from his tent in the camp. He had left his boots under a nearby tree, and his shirts were hung on the branches to dry. His pants were rolled up to his knees. The water was cool on his bare feet. The sun beat down on his bare back. His pistol rested in the holster on his hip, as always. This was Samuel's first moment of downtime in weeks, and he wanted to spend it the only way he really knew how: He desperately needed to bathe.
Samuel sighed, knelt down to the water's edge, and splashed the cool water onto his grimy face. Samuel now could finally unwind. The light glinted off of the water. Reeds swayed in the breeze. Samuel's hair tickled the nape of his neck, and he ran his fingers through it. His hair had grown long in the past couple of months, and it was long enough to tie back now.
Samuel stood and stripped himself of his pistol, pants, and undergarments, then commenced to step into the cool water of the creek to scrub them clean of all of the dirt, blood, and grime that had accumulated on them. After a few minutes of hard scrubbing, he was satisfied with his work, so he walked to the tree and hung his clothes on the branches with the rest of his dripping clothing. Samuel then raced back to the creek. He splashed into the deepest part, which came up to his waist, and he splashed handfuls of water onto his chest, his back, and his arms. Dirt streamed off of his skin and into the water. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a bath. He smiled and dunked his head forward into the water. He scrubbed his head and scalp until it hurt, and washed all of the dirt and blood out of his hair. Then he took a deep breath and sunk down in the water until he was completely submerged and sitting on the creek bottom. When Samuel opened his eyes, the greens and browns of the water reflected the golden sunlight above his head. What Samuel loved the most aside from the beauty of this undiscovered underwater world was the murky silence. Not a single sound could penetrate the watery roof above Samuel's head.
This war is ugly… It seems so far away now…
His lungs burned, but Samuel ignored them. Just a moment more… One more moment away…
Samuel craved the separatism from the world outside of this silent paradise. Quiet was a rare treasure, something that he prized above everything.
His body was screaming for breath, so Samuel reluctantly pushed his feet against the soft muddy bottom of his newfound respite from the world around him to stand. His body glided through the water, and his head broke the surface to reemerge into a world of chaos. He took a moment to breathe and steady himself on his feet, then he flipped his hair back and out of his face. Now the sounds of the camp reached him, along with everything that it entailed.
Back to the real world then.
Satisfied with the cleanliness of himself, he splashed out of the water and onto the bank. He laid down, closed his eyes, and breathed in deep the smell of the sweet air, the rich earth, the remnants of salty sweat on his tanned skin. His tanned, battle-scarred skin.
Samuel had gallantly borne the wrath of countless enemies, and his body told the story. Three bullet wounds–one in the chest, two in the stomach. Two stab wounds from bayonets–one in the side, one in the upper leg. A long and jagged gouge across his shoulders from a dagger. These all marred his body, the pink scars that named Samuel as a man that had no concept of the meaning of the word 'fear' when the bullets began to fly.
Samuel reached over to where his bag sat on the bank behind him. He dug through it and removed a matchbook, a tin of tobacco, and paper. He took a pinch of the tobacco and placed it carefully in the paper, rolled it tight, then licked the edge and sealed it shut. He struck a match that he had drawn from the matchbook and lit his cigarette. Samuel took a long, slow drag on his cigarette before he got up and withdrew his pistol from its holster where it hung on the tree branch. He eyed it, then made a mental note to clean it once he got back to his tent. He wished he had the supplies he needed so he could clean it now. It relaxed him.
He ran his thumb over the smooth wooden handle, then frowned. There's something on it, he thought to himself. He spit on a dark smudge, then rubbed it with his thumb. Oh wait, I know what this is. He hadn't cleaned his pistol off since the last battle. There, he had fought a man hand-to-hand, as both of the men had run out of bullets, and he had no choice but to beat the man over the head with his empty pistol.
I'm cleaning brain matter off of my darned pistol.
Samuel sighed cooly and continued to clean the handle. He puffed on his cigarette, unphased.
The stuff is impossible to get off once it dries.
-x-x-x-
Samuel stayed at the creek for as long as he could, but he knew that he had to meet with General Jackson at supper, and he couldn't very well meet him with no clothes, so Samuel dressed on the bank of the creek in the slowly fading light of the day. His pants were still wet, and his shirt was damp, but Samuel only shrugged it off. Once he was done however, he lingered to watch the light of the sun glint off of the surface of the water. He watched and he thought.
The war was going on longer than he had hoped that it would, but the South was faring well. They were taking their wins, and they were taking their losses. The Confederacy was doing well in its endeavour to obtain France and England's support. The blockade runners were also doing well, thanks to England. His men were fed and clothed, and morale was high.
Samuel was just so tired. The invasion into the North was exhausting. The Union army had been chasing them ever since they had set foot on Union soil, never allowing them to rest. It was always fight, never stop, drive on, always forward. The generals pushed so hard that at the moment, Samuel had been awake for nearly thirty six hours. All he wanted to do was sleep, but sleep was a luxury reserved for the dead.
The fight waited for no man, and Samuel made sure that he was always prepared to meet it, even if that meant sacrificing things like food and sleep.
A glance at the slowly slipping sun made Samuel turn away from the creek and make his way back to the camp. Something in his gut pulled at him to turn back, but he only walked on, his lengthened shadow leading the way.
-x-x-x-
Alfred reined his horse in to a halt, and slipped out of the saddle and onto the ground. Someone took the reins from him, and he strode determinedly into the tent in front of him. He started speaking the moment his foot entered the doorway of the tent.
"Someone tell me the battle plan quickly, so that I may have ample time to prepare."
One of the generals stood up. "Sir, I don't think that it's such a good idea for you to join in the fighting. Frankly, you're out of practice. Let others take your place. Besides, the President said–"
"Screw what the President says," Alfred spat, clearly irritated. "I can make decisions for myself. I'm not some child that has to be babysat every hour of the day. And I am not about to simply let others take my place." He eyed the general who spoke harshly. "Now someone tell me the battle plans already before I have to squeeze them out of you lot myself."
All of the men in the room were suddenly uncomfortably quiet. No one wanted to tell Alfred anything, but then again, none of them wanted not to tell him either. They all had heard that he was acting very strangely. He was making rash decisions, his judgement was impaired, he just simply was not himself. No one wanted to find out what happened when this new Alfred got angry.
One of the generals in the back stood up and started to present the battle plan in a slightly shaky voice. "We found their battle plans. I have the papers here." The general held up a handful of papers. "We've gone over them already, you're welcome to them." Alfred was interested, and he took the papers and started reading them. The general continued. "Our strategy is to attack them where they have set up their defenses, at Antietam Creek." Alfred listened intently as the general laid out the details, then he asked something that took all of the men in the tent off guard. "Are any of you actually planning on advancing any farther into the battle than the back line?"
No one in the room said anything. The air was heavy with the unspoken answer.
Alfred sighed. "Didn't think so." With that comment, he walked to the door of the tent. Before he exited, he turned and said, "It has been quite a while since I have last killed a man, so yes, I am out of practice. You could even say that my battle skills are rusty. However, I still remember it all as if it were in the thick of battle only yesterday. Personally, I think that you men have forgotten the taste of killing. I would suggest reacquainting yourselves with it, but I wouldn't want you to soil your freshly pressed uniforms."
With that, he stormed out of the tent.
-x-x-x-
As soon as the sun rose the next morning, Samuel awoke to a blood-red sky that was filled with the booming of cannons.
The Union army had started their attack, and Samuel was ready for them. He and his platoon had stayed up during the night, for they were on watch. They were supposed to be relieved at dawn, but something inside of Samuel told them to hold off for just a few minutes. He had a feeling that something was going to happen, and his instincts were right. At the sound of the first crack of the cannons, he grabbed his rifle in his hand and sprinted down the stretch of hill to get to the main camp, all the while screaming at the top of his lungs, "Ready your weapons! We are under attack! Enemy fire! Ready your weapons!" Adrenaline flooded his veins. Any feeling of exhaustion was gone. When he saw the camp spring to life at the sound of his voice, Samuel spun on his heel and ran toward the front line. That was where he belonged. Fighting was all he knew. After all, it was what he was bred to do.
-x-x-x-
Alfred knew that the Union army's numbers vastly outnumbered the Confederacy's, but he still couldn't still the quivering of his heart at the sound of the cannons. It had been years since he had last picked up a rifle. His fingers weren't back into the swing of it all yet, his nose wasn't used to the stench of blood again.
His horse shifted its weight excitedly underneath him, and he stroked its massive neck gently. He and his horse stood further back in the ranks up on a hill. He could see the field perfectly. If everything went according to plan as it should, then Alfred's men should win the day.
The cannon bombardment went on for about two hours, all of which Alfred spent quietly watching the battlefield like a hawk. He didn't eat. He didn't drink. He only watched. And waited.
He waited patiently until the orders came down.
"Come down at their upper left flank. Come down hard."
Alfred smirked.
Oh, I'll come down hard.
-x-x-x-
Samuel hid his body behind the tree stump that he had made his temporary shelter during the cannon fire. His face was covered with sweat and grime. He sucked dust and smoke down his throat with every breath. A mangled body lay to his right only feet away. A cannon ball's crater scarred the earth just past his feet.
That's when the enemy pored over the crest of the hill and came down toward him. Samuel tightened his grip on his rifle and waited. He couldn't wait to put as many of them in the ground as possible.
Steadily they came.
Patiently he waited.
He slowed his breathing down and brought his pounding heart rate down to a level that was easier to manage. His muscles tensed, ready to fire and send him headlong into the heat of battle.
He held up his hand. The soldiers behind him waited for his signal to advance.
Samuel waited until the enemy was nearly halfway down the hill for the yell to break from his lips, and at the sound, a swarm of his brothers charged the Union line.
In the face of his enemy, Samuel knew no fear, but an hour into the bloodshed, Samuel's heart began to quiver for the first time.
Something was deadly wrong. He could feel it in the air.
The tides were beginning to turn, and not in his favor.
At that thought, Samuel's hands began to shake.
-x-x-x-
Alfred watched the battle from the top of the hill. He was anxious to get down into the fray, but he had his orders. Watch and wait.
More like 'Watch and go crazy', he thought. I just want to get down there…
Someone walked up behind him. "Alfred Jones?"
Alfred turned around to face the man who spoke. "Yes?"
The man handed Alfred a piece of paper that had been folded in half. "This is for you. Straight from McClellan himself."
McClellan? Alfred thought. He took the paper and opened it. A short note had been scrawled in shaky handwriting.
Intelligence indicates that Samuel Lee Jones is here.
He is to be apprehended by any means possible.
Alfred clenched his jaw and stuffed the note into his pocket.
He was here.
Well if there was any time to nail that smug piece of… He took a slow breath to calm himself. Well, there's no time like the present.
-x-x-x-
Samuel lunged again with his bayoneted rifle at the soldier in front of him. The blue uniform, now stained dark red, crumpled in a screaming heap onto the ground. Knowing that the man he had just stabbed would be dead any second, Samuel wrenched his rifle from his hand. He knelt behind the dying man's form and fired the rifle at a charging assailant. The soldier fell dead from a shot through the head.
Samuel discarded his enemy's now-spent rifle, picked up his own, and leapt over the body of the now dead soldier to meet another enemy head-on. A quick flick of the wrist disarmed him, a swift stab upward killed him. It seemed as if it were the same every time. Dodge a bullet, swipe the legs out from under your enemy, stab to the chest, repeat. Sweat dripped into Samuel's eyes, which he quickly blinked away. Everything blurred together. He had lost track of the time. How long had it been? An hour? Two? Three? His legs burned and shook. His rifle felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. If I could just rest for one moment and breathe, then I'd be alright…
He gasped. He couldn't draw a breath. A metallic taste came up from his throat and onto his tongue. Mind numbing pain shot up from his back to his brain. A cough. The ground flew up toward his face. He hit his knees. He felt the bayonet rip from his chest.
Wait.
Samuel took a strangled breath.
Now.
He spun around, grabbed the soldier's head, and flipped him over his shoulder. The soldier's body slammed into the ground at Samuel's knees, but he was back on his feet a second later. The Union soldier plowed into Samuel's frame and drove him into the blood-soaked dirt. The two fought tooth and nail until Samuel found himself pinned down under the soldier's knees. Fingers wrapped around Samuel's throat. He clawed desperately at the enemy's face but could make no headway. His vision was starting to go dark when he got his hand behind the soldier's head. With a sharp twist and a crack, the soldier fell dead on top of Samuel's chest, his neck snapped clean.
Samuel lay there under the soldier's body and watched the battle unfold before his eyes. His men were falling just as fast as the enemy was. It's a meat grinder, he thought.
That's when he realized that he couldn't breathe. He tried to draw a breath, but he couldn't get any air in. The bayonet to his chest had taken out one of his lungs. Stupid thing is collapsed.
He waited. Blood dripped from his gaping mouth and pooled under his body. His breaths became more and more shallow.
He wasn't healing, and he knew what it meant.
For the first time, the favor of the war was turning against him, and Samuel was downright scared.
Uh oh Sammy, this doesn't look so good...
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Amanda and Harley
