September 17th, 1862

Battlefield of Antietam

Someone kicked his hand.

Robert Shaw blinked open his eyes, unsure of his surroundings.

"You alright there, Captain?" The words were asked with a heavy Southern accent, though not unkindly. With difficulty, the young man shifted himself so that he was staring up at the figure that had spoken to him. This man was probably a slave, his clothes worn and falling apart at the seams. At first, all Shaw could make out was the silhouette, disguised by the sun but the sun was soon not the problem, as it was shielded by the man's broad hat.

The two didn't exchange any more words. They just sat there, staring at each other.

Shaw, much to his later embarrassment, just stared up at him, unable to form words due to the pain in his neck. He could feel the wound start to bleed, but not gush. The man just nodded to him before moving on, the shovel in his hand placed on his shoulder. Robert sat up, his eyes scanning the field of corpses for the hooded man that saved his life. He gasped in pain as his hand went up to his neck to staunch the blood flow. He staggered to his feet, moving towards where the battle had moved.

When he reached where the battle had moved, he young man didn't move, just stood rooted to his spot at he watched with unseeing eyes. A lower rank, a Private Second Class, ran past him, skittering to a stop when he saw the captain. The boy asked him a question, something that Robert didn't hear over the ringing in his ears and the slowness of his mind. The words weren't comprehending. Robert blinked and soon found himself situated in a medical tent listening to the screams of the wounded as they were being operated on.

Orderlies rushed around while sergeants moved back and forth. One particular scene caught his attention, a small operating area with a sheet in front of it stained with blood. The surgeon was busy, struggling to hold down a man as he moved about in pain.

"SOMEONE GET ME THE CHLOROFORM!"

"NO PLEASE, GOD NOT MY LEG!" the man shouted over and over again as the surgeon sawed off the limb.

"The surgeon's busy," the man who had found his way to Shaw's side said. "But I can fix you up."

He chattered on about something related to the war or something else, but Shaw's attention was focused on the scene in front of him….

"Thomas is dead."

That is, until he heard a woman's voice, out of place in an army field hospital. Robert managed to glance over at the voice and saw two hooded figures talking in hushed tones. How he could hear the conversation over all the ruckus, especially with the amputation still going on and the patient howling in pain, was beyond him. He spotted the man who helped him on the battlefield but the hood concealed his features.

"Blood lost."

The hooded man placed a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know the two of you were really close. Were there any final requests?"

"Only to keep fighting. We need to get in touch with his family and let them know, though if he was enrolled with this unit, they'll send a letter to them even if we don't." The hooded woman sighed. "I'm going to head on over to Aunt's house. She needs someone to accompany her to Massachusetts. Something about meeting with some upper-level abolitionists to get funding for a shelter for runaway slaves. Care to join us?"

"Where specifically?"

"Boston."

The hooded man scanned the room, he and Shaw making eye contact for a brief moment. It didn't last very long before the man broke contact and the two moved on, carrying the conversation with them. Shaw was thrown back to the present and was aware that the man was still talking to him.

"-e the slaves. Word is that he was waiting for a victory, so I guess that's what this is."

"My God." Robert didn't know what to say as the man in front of him finally passed out from pain.

"Yeeep. Here you go, Captain."

Robert held the gauze to his neck while the man moved to get a bandage.

Later that day, while in his personal quarters, Robert received two letters. One was from his commander, granting his request to go on leave.

The other was from his mother, asking him if he would be home in time for the ball they were throwing in his honor. Robert didn't know how he felt about that but wrote back anyway, letting his mother that he would gladly visit.