Tired after a long day's march, Damon wanders a short distance outside of their encampment. He finds a huge Oak tree, its big leafy branches creating a canopy offering him some shade from the glaring hot sun, he wipes his brow, sighing when it begins to set in the western sky. He glances to his right, the guys are piling up wood to start a fire. He's not so far away that he doesn't hear their voices singing. It's a tune of the old South.
"O, I wish I was in the land of cotton, Old times there are not forgotten, Look away! Look away! Look Away! Dixie Land. In Dixie Land where I was born in, Early on one frosty mornin', Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
Damon remembers music class when he was a child. Many times they sang that song at school programs and town picnics. He likes the feeling of nostalgia, it gives him some semblance of normalcy in this crazy phenomenon that landed him in 1863 America. He's exhausted. Although he's in good physical shape, he's not used to walking twenty miles in a heavy gray uniform while carrying a knapsack. Every muscle in his body aches, his legs, his back, his neck and most of all, his feet.
Damon leans back against the tree, pulls the bill of his hat forward and closes his eyes, covering his mouth when a huge yawn wants to escape. Just as he's on the cusp, wavering between wake and sleep, he feels someone giving him a light shove. Damon yawns again then pushes his hat back, surprised to see a fellow soldier he knows as Frederick. He nods when the man sits down and leans back against the tree too.
"Gruel again for chow," Frederick mumbles, eyeing Damon before taking his hat off.
"It's war, Frederick, we don't exactly have gourmet accommodations." Damon eyes him then leans forward to pull a sprig of tall grass to chew on. He pulls his pencil and knife out, whittling it down to a point, jerking when his hand slips, giving him a small cut. He's mesmerized by the droplet of blood that forms, knowing that with a battle coming, he'll see so much more of it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his journal, tearing out a piece of paper to write a note to his parents.
He knows that there's one from his ancestor around this date. The words come quickly, the letter practically writes itself. It's getting darker and harder to see so he finishes it and puts it in an envelope. Just as he finishes, he feels Frederick jostles his arm again saying that it's time to eat. Reluctantly he gets up, his muscles rebel reminding him that he's not used to such physical exertion. He follows his friend back to camp, gets in the food line and waits his turn.
Before retiring to his tent, Damon walks a short distance away from their encampment again. He finds a small clearing and looks up at the sky. It's a clear night with a million twinkling stars. The big dipper is plain to see and as he scans the sky, he also finds the North Star. Polaris is located in the constellation of Ursa Minor, the Little Bear. It sometimes also goes by the name "Stella Polaris." The seven stars from which they derive a bear are also known as the Little Dipper.
Polaris, the North Star, lies at the end of the handle of the Little Dipper, whose stars are rather faint. Its four faintest stars can be blotted out with very little moonlight or street lighting. Damon feels very fortunate, not only to be able to see things that are difficult with the city lights but most of all because whatever magic landed him here, he got to meet her.
He can't help but wonder if she's looking up at the same sky? Is she thinking about him the way his mind is always on her? Is she missing him as much he misses her already? Because he's fallen through the looking glass and knows what lies ahead, he tried to convince her to leave Fredericksburg as soon as possible. It was a failed and feeble attempt to do the right thing, to try to change the course of history, to change her fate. She could see that he was worried about her. In the end, she didn't promise that she'd leave but she didn't say no adamantly either.
When he hears a crackling sound, he snaps his head to his left, relaxing a bit when he sees Jasper, another one of the other Damon's friends, or so they've told him, sharing things that only friends would share.
"Captain said that everyone should get back to camp. We're marching again at daylight."
Damon nods and after taking one more long look at the tremendous expanse above, he follows Jasper back to camp and retires for the night as soon as he reaches his tent.
As they march along the dirt roads, they reach a small town. Their commander, Major General Joseph Hooker dismounts his horse, signaling the men to stop. When Damon lays eyes on a well, the first thing he can think of is to get something to drink. He pulls the bucket up and splashes his face. It feels good. Both Frederick and Jasper do the same and then they fill their canteens, soon there's a line of men just as parched as he is. Once they have their fill, orders come to set up camp for the night.
Not long after they're done and can rest a little bit, the town folks start bringing food for them. Damon bites in a hunk of fresh baked bread. He's never tasted anything quite so good, not after the junk he's had to eat while being held captive in this century. When they finish, Damon and Frederick along with a few other soldiers venture into the town, they set up their tents on the outskirts. When they see a tavern, the pour in and order beers.
While raising the tankard to his lips, he happens to notice General Hooker chatting with General Thomas Jackson, history knows him as Stonewall Jackson. He was a war hero and one of the South's most successful generals during the Civil War. After a difficult childhood, he graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York, in time to fight in the Mexican War. He then left the military to pursue a teaching career.
After his home state of Virginia seceded from the Union in 1861, Jackson joined the Confederate army and quickly forged his reputation for fearlessness and tenacity during the Shenandoah Valley Campaign later that same year. He served under General Robert E. Lee for much of the Civil War. Jackson was a decisive factor in many significant battles until his mortal wounding by friendly fire at the age of 39 during the Battle of Chancellorsville in May 1863.
Damon is actually in awe, his gaze frozen on the man, the legend. Damon knows that General Jackson will die in the upcoming battle. He startles out of his reverie when he feels a nudge.
"Why are you staring at General Jackson?"
"No reason, I've just never seen him before," Damon explains, knowing that he cannot reveal how he really knows who the man is. He picks up his tankard again and swallows what's left before clapping on the bar top for a refill, another round for the guys. Once they finish their round, they leave the tavern to go back to their encampment. Along the way, they see a woman screaming, an older man and woman trying to comfort her. Damon shares a look with his comrades then walks over to them.
"Can I be of assistance?"
"Thank you soldier for asking but no. There's a Typhus outbreak in the Fredericksburg, Tappahannock area. Many people have already succumbed to it including my Dorothy's husband. Godspeed, soldier," he says softly and then turns away just in time to catch the young woman when she faints.
Damon is stunned and yet he's not. He knew this was coming and the only thing that fills his mind is the need to get to her. It's overwhelming, burning like a wildfire through his veins with each pump of his frantically beating heart. He and Jasper retreat to their tent, the only thought on Damon's mind is to reach her. He'll be the happiest soldier in this fucking war if he finds her home empty. Either way, he has to know.
He lies in wait. As soon as Jasper drifts off to sleep, as quietly as he can he escapes from the tent. He darts around others, slowly and methodically till he's away from the camp. The only light he has is the light of the moon. He can't walk so he pivots and gingerly walks around the perimeter of the camp till he reaches the pen where the horses are tied up. He can't risk taking the time to steal a saddle so very, very quietly, he unties the reins of a black stallion.
As quietly as he can, he leads it away from the others and when he feels safe, he mounts it and then starts galloping towards Fredericksburg. He knows that desertion is punishable by hanging but he can't not. He digs his heals into the horse's side, urging him to go faster. The only thing on his mind is getting to her.
He rides all night long by the break of dawn, he can barely keep his eyes open, he dismounts the horse when he finds an abandoned well. After he and the horse drink, he forces himself to get back on and he rides long and hard until he finally reaches her home which is on the outskirts of Fredericksburg. He dismounts the animal on a run and hurries towards the front door. Just as he's about to push it open, he's stopped in his tracks by an older woman.
"Where's Elena? I need to see Elena now."
"She's dying," the woman says, blocking his entry into the cabin.
"No, no, no, it's not true, it's not. We're going to get married and have a family."
"I'm sorry soldier. I truly am," she says softly while laying her hand gently on his forearm.
Damon's heart is beating so hard against his chest, the gushes of blood roaring his ears so loudly that he can barely hear the woman, he watches her lips move but is lost. His eyes dart around wildly like a caged animal. The only thing that makes sense is being with her.
"Please, let me be with her then."
She eyes him carefully and then finally steps aside. Damon runs into her bedroom. His breath catches in his throat when he sees her. She's laying on her side, her back to him. He doesn't waste another second and hurries to her bedside. "Elena," he whispers, brushing a strand of her sweat dampened hair behind her ear. She's burning up with fever, her lips are cracked and dry. Slowly she turns her head, her eyes are cloudy and without recognition. It's then that he sees her swollen belly, ripe with child.
How could this be? Is it...? Is it possible that the child is his?
Just as these questions fill his mind, he accepts the truth. When he was leaving Elena all those months ago, she wasn't alone. His legs wobble and can no longer support his weight. He lands on the floor in a heap.
It takes a few minutes for the shock to wear off and then he jumps to his feet and climbs onto the bed with her. He holds her in his arms and caresses her forehead and smooths her hair and then lowers his palm to stroke her bump. "God, Elena. You can't leave me, you can't." Tears form in his eyes and as much as he doesn't want to cry, he can't help it. When she goes, she'll take their child with her. It's so unfair.
When she opens her eyes again, it seems like she has a moment of lucidity because she raises a shaky hand to palm his cheek. "Damon, you must be safe, you shouldn't be here." When she tries to continue, he stops her.
"Save your energy, sweetheart. I have to get you out of here, we have to go where you can get care, I need you to live, Elena."
"I should have listened to you," she manages to get out, her voice barely audible.
"As soon as you're well, I'm going to marry you," he says softly. When he shifts a bit, she cries out in pain and it kills him. His belly is twisting inside, never has he felt pain like this but he isn't going to burden her. He frantically tries to think of something, anything he can do to change her fate but it's 1863, not 2017. His heart starts to pound chaotically. His eyes fill with moisture, he's powerless to stop this. Damon drops his eyes to her still beautiful form. He has to be strong so she can leave this world in peace and without fear.
He drifts off to sleep but her painful moans startle him awake. When he hears the door, he looks up, grateful when the old woman brings a basin of water and a cloth. Damon silently thanks her and then dabs Elena's skin. As night turns into day, her cries almost kill him. The thought that he'll never know his child or get to raise it with her, the depth of his pain is an endless pit of raw visceral agony.
He looks down at her again. Her breaths are coming farther and farther apart. He whispers how much he loves her and how they're going to be married and he talks about names for their baby. With the end nearing, he hugs her close. "I promise, I promise you... I promise that we'll be together. Hold onto to that, my love."
And then with a whimper her eyes open, brown joining blue for the final time as she breathes her last...
Damon eyes Jasper then walks out of his tent to get a cup of coffee. His journal is in his uniform pocket so he takes a big swallow of coffee and then walks back to his tent. He still limps having been on the receiving end of several lashes for deserting. But because they need all of the able bodied men they can get and because he returned voluntarily, he's escaped prison. He drops onto his cot and opens the book. He tears out a couple of pages and then begins writing.
June 30, 1862
Dear Zachary,
When tears start to fill his eyes he has to stop because they blur his vision. He's never felt such intense agony before in his life. The worst pain that he can ever remember was when his dog, Clarence, died when he was ten. But this, this is torture, he not only lost her, he lost his child too. He'll never get over this, he's sure of it. The anguish, the unending ache that burns inside of him whenever he closes them. It's indescribable.
He wipes his eyes on his shirt sleeve. He can't help but wonder if this is how his ancestor felt too, knowing that she was gone forever and having to live with the anguish of never getting to know his child. Damon cries out, "Make it stop, please make it stop." No one can.
Frederick peaks into the tent and when Damon nods that he's okay, his friend gives him a tight smile and then ducks out of the tent, leaving Damon alone once again in sorrow and despair. He wipes his eyes once more and then starts to write again.
I want to be with her brother and although I will do nothing to cause my death, she wouldn't approve of that, I will welcome it when it comes.
Sincerely, Damon J. Salvatore.
July 3, 1863
Damon stands in line with the other men in his regiment along with 15,000 other men. Within just a short time, he'll have the answer to his question. Can he die in a past that isn't even his own? He surveys the landscape, miles of open field lie in front of them along with the Army of the Potomac under the command of Major General George Meade. They're positioned along Cemetery Ride. Just yesterday, the Confederates had hammered each flank of the Union line but couldn't break through. As they wait for the signal to march, Damon recalls sitting in front of the fire just this morning. Despite his melancholy, he was stunned to lay eyes on General Robert E. Lee. The man, even in the 21st century is still a much revered and beloved General. Now as he waits in line, he once again looks at the man, the legend.
"General," says Longstreet, "I have been a soldier all my life. I have been with soldiers engaged in fights by couples, by squads, companies, regiments, divisions, and armies, and should know as well as anyone what soldiers can do. It is my opinion that no 15,000 men ever arrayed for battle can take that position."
Damon listens in as General Lee brushes off General Longstreet's concerns and tells him to summon Pickett. Damon runs his hands over the smooth metal of his rifle. What would history look like if only the General had listened?
Lee decides to switch the point of assault northward. Their target is a small clump of trees just under a mile away on Cemetery Ridge. Lee's plan is simple: a tremendous bombardment by all available Confederate artillery to sweep the Union line around the trees, while Southern infantry is to remain behind Seminary Ridge, out of sight of the enemy. As soon as the artillery barrage is finished, the infantry will march down the hill, across the valley and attempt to break the Federal line, splitting the Army of the Potomac in half.
Damon wonders if the Federal army would have defeated the South if Lee had won at Gettysburg?
Pickett's division is brought up. On his right are brigades commanded by Brig. Gen. Cadmus Wilcox and Colonel David Lang. On Pickett's left, Maj. Gen. Henry Heth's division, now commanded by Brig. Gen. Johnston Pettigrew also falls into line. To Pettigrew's rear, two brigades from Maj. Gen. Dorsey Pender's division assemble. In all, something less than 15,000 effective are now gathered to deliver the crowning blow for Southern independence. Fifty Confederate battle flags are to be presented to the enemy along a mile-long front. They are tough, proud men, the best their nation has to offer.
Damon knows the futility of it, the carnage that's about to occur but he's powerless to stop it. History can't be changed for if it is, there will be no United States.
At precisely 1:07 p.m., the first Rebel signal gun is fired. For a brief moment, time stands still as the blue-gray puff of smoke rises eerily over the valley. The massed batteries, firing by salvos, begin raining death and destruction onto their enemy.
Damon watches in awe. It's as if the men are on dress parade, fifty stands of colors are unfurling to the enemy. Ahead of them lay four-fifths of a mile of prime Pennsylvania farmland, interwoven with fences, that rise gradually to the crest of the ridge. Centered on the ridge is the famous clump of trees. Damon knows that those who are about to witness the coming charge will have the vision etched in their minds for the rest of their lives. He snaps his head when he hears General Lo Armistead turning to one of the color bearers. "Are you going to put those colors on the enemy's works today?"
"I will try, sir, and if mortal man can do it, it shall be done!" the man replies, standing at attention.
"Up, men, and to your posts!" cries General Pickett. "Don't forget today that you are from old Virginia!"
Pickett orders, "Left oblique," and then Damon and 4,500 men in his division respond. It takes Pickett's division two or three minutes to complete the change of direction, and all that time the shells keep falling. A shell bursts not far from Damon. He watches in horror as ten men drop from a single shot. When the command to halt is given, the Confederate lines dress and realign while under fire. They reform and charge again. Union batteries are punishing Pickett's right. Their air is cloudy with smoke and the smell acrid. There are blood and bodies all around Damon, he's sickened by what he sees but he marches forward anyway, obeying his General's commands.
Just as Damon and the men beside him reach the line, he feels a sharp stabbing pain. Too stunned to speak, his face contorts in pain when he looks at the face of the Union Soldier as he pulls out the bayonet that impaled him.
Damon lowers his eyes to where his now bloody hands are clutching his middle, his mouth falls open, blood begins to leak out from the corners of it, his eyes roll back as he collapses onto the now bloody battlefield. His friend drops down beside him. The last thing he sees is her outstretched hand before he takes his last breath at the same time his blue eyes dim when Frederick sweeps his hand over his face, closing them for the final time.
** On July 3, 1863, troops under Confederate General George Pickett begin a massive attack against the center of the Union lines on the climactic third day of the Battle of Gettysburg, the largest engagement of the war. For the first two days of the battle, General Robert E Lee's Army of Northern Virginia had battered General George Meade's Army of the Potomac. The day before Pickett's Charge, the Confederates had hammered each flank of the Union line but could not break through.
On day 3, Lee decided to attack the Union center, stationed on Cemetery Ridge, after making another unsuccessful attempt on the Union right flank at Culp's Hill in the morning. The majority of the force consisted of Pickett's division, but there were other units represented among the 15,000 attackers.
After a long Confederate artillery bombardment, the Rebel force moved through the open field and up the slight rise of Cemetery Ridge. But by the time they reached the Union line, the attack had been broken into the many units and they were unable to penetrate the Yankee center.
The failed attack effectively ended the Battle of Gettysburg. On July 4, Lee began to withdraw his forces to Virginia. The casualties for both armies were staggering. Lee lost 28,000 of his 75,000 soldiers and Union losses stood at over 22,000. It was the last time Lee threatened Northern territory.
There are still a few chapters left...
Eva and I want to thank you all so very much. Seriously you're an incredible group of people, we're in awe every day of what you do for us. We don't even begin to know how to thank you all enough. You surprise us and inspire us to keep writing stories.
Thank you Eva. You're the best.
Chapter title: 'How It Ends' by Devotchka.
Both Eva and I have met some truly incredible people, many we consider dear personal friends through DE, readers and other writers among them. Check out their stories if you're interested. Short on words, Florencia7, Mariah April May, Salvatoreboys4ever, Justinia Korax, deepwater1978, TheLittle MissVixen and VitsAsh. Amazing Aisha and StarlightSo are all new writers.
I hope you all have a fabulous day. Be safe and we'll see you, hopefully tomorrow with "November Rain".