Oh, my anguish, my anguish! I writhe in pain. Oh, the agony of my heart! My heart pounds within me, I cannot keep silent. For I have heard the sound of the trumpet: I have heard the battle cry.
Jeremiah 4:19 NIV

Jaws of Death

"Wait a minute, no one's ever beat me playin' Reversin." Porthos growled. "You've played this before… or you're cheatin'!" the large Musketeer winked.

"Really, Porthos?" d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I'm a fast learner; besides, I had a good teacher."

The sound of a horse fast approaching had both men anxiously jumping to their feet. Standing behind a tree with pistols ready, they each breathed a sigh of relief as they watched Athos ride up.

"Bloody hell, you almost got yourself shot!" Porthos roared. "Athos… what's wrong?"

"It's Aramis!" Athos reported with alarm. Roger snorted, ready to get moving again. "His foot is caught in a bear trap and I can't get the jaws apart—they won't budge. I need your help!"

"But what about…?"

"Rubbish!" Porthos ran to his horse. "Let's go!"

Athos turned Roger and charged down the road, knowing his brothers would be right behind him. Together the three rode back to where Aramis lay in agony, trapped in the unforgiving grip of the iron jaws. The Musketeer lieutenant worried that leaving Aramis alone with strangers wasn't the wisest of decisions, yet it seems the nuns had come along at the perfect time to help.

What would Athos have done if the nuns hadn't come along—leave Aramis alone? This was his brother—this was Aramis—who was badly hurt. There simply was no other choice he could have made. To save his brother, the Musketeer lieutenant needed help to open the deadly jaws, he wasn't strong enough to do it alone.

Arriving at the first checkpoint, Athos sprang from his horse and rushed to Aramis' side with his two brothers on his heels. They found the nuns dabbing at the medic's face as they quoted Psalm 23 aloud. Aramis' pale face glistened with sweat; thin rivulets of perspiration rolled into his sweat-soaked hair. He lay unmoving.

"Mon Dieu!" Athos gasped at the frightful sight of his unconscious brother.

"Athos, we tried to keep him awake but he just couldn't hold on," Sister Maria said as she blinked back the tears.

"Bloody hell," Porthos growled, forgetting his present company. "Pardon me, Sisters," he apologized. The large Musketeer dropped to his knees beside Aramis then gently took the medic from Angelica's arms. "I'm here, brother," he said, cradling his friend's head in his lap.

"How long has he been unconscious?" Athos asked as he checked the medic's pulse to reassure himself that his friend still lived.

"It hasn't been that long, maybe ten minutes," Sister Angelica reported. "He tried so hard to stay awake."

"Aramis, wake up for me, mon cher." Porthos wiped the sweat from his friend's brow with a handkerchief. "Come on, 'Mis, this is not a good time for a nap," he gently shook his shoulders. "Open your eyes for me."

"Porth's?" Aramis slurred in a soft whisper. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, brother." Porthos cupped Aramis' face with his hand, his thumb rubbed softly along the jaw line. "I know this was a borin' assignment, but you didn't have to get yourself trapped to make it excitin'."

"Mmm, what's a little… excitement to sp-spice up the mono-monotony. Aaugh…!" Aramis cried out as a sudden flash of pain jolted through his foot like a zap of lightning. "S-stop!"

"I'm sorry, Aramis… I'm sorry." d'Artagnan ran a shaking hand down his face after testing the strength of the trap's springs. "We're not going get these jaws apart by pulling on them."

"How do we get the trap open then?" Athos asked, incredulous at the grim statement.

"We need something we can use as leverage to pry these jaws apart," d'Artagnan suggested. "We won't get them apart otherwise—the trap is too tight… too strong."

"Leverage?" Porthos asked, confused. "Just how do we do that?"

The Gascon studied the trap, carefully observing every angle on each side. He rubbed his chin absently as he formulated a plan on how to free the medic's foot. "If we can slip a dagger in between each jaw and Aramis' boot…"

"… we can get it open!" Porthos finished the Gascon's thoughts. "At least enough…"

"… at least enough," d'Artagnan interrupted, "to insert a couple of thick sticks on each side. If we position the sticks on the inside of the teeth then push down and out, it should open the jaws."

"Very good, that's a brilliant idea." Athos smiled as he clapped the Gascon on the shoulder.

"It is a brilliant idea," Porthos winked. "How'd you think of that?"

"I grew up on a farm, remember?" d'Artagnan grimly shook his head at the memories swirling in his mind's eye. "I helped my father to free some of the unfortunate critters caught in these dreadful devices in the woods near our farm. When you see the suffering an animal endures because of these things…" he paused and shuddered. "We never used the traps on our farm; my father couldn't stand them. He always said there were better ways to rid the farm of unwelcome pests. I believe anyone with a heart would never use such a cruel device."

"Well said, young man." Sister Maria smiled at d'Artagnan. "Do we not see enough suffering in this world without causing it deliberately? If only more people cared about not causing unnecessary pain and suffering to others, even to the innocent creatures of God."

"I agree," d'Artagnan smiled before turning his attention back to his brothers. "Alright, let's get this device off of Aramis' foot. First, we need to find some thick branches that won't snap once we start prying these jaws apart."

"God forbid if that happens!" Sister Angelica interjected.

"Exactly why we cannot let it happen," Athos retorted. "Aramis has suffered enough."

"He's suffered more than enough, Monsieur," Sister Maria dabbed the damp cloth over the medic's face.

Athos scrubbed a hand down his face as he looked around the vicinity, scanning for fallen branches. "Porthos, I want you to stay with Aramis; d'Artagnan, you come with me to look for branches. Be careful where you step—there could be more of those traps hidden underneath the leaves."

The two men fanned out looking for branches, picking up sticks of various sizes then testing their sturdiness by bending them with both hands. Each time a branch snapped, it was tossed aside. Finding sufficient branches that wouldn't break under heavy stress turned out to be more difficult than Athos had imagined in a forest so dense with trees.

"Ah, here's a good, thick branch," d'Artagnan held it up for Athos to see.

"Hmm, let's see if it's strong enough," Athos said as he took the branch then began bending it, testing it. He raised his eyebrows in hope… until it suddenly snapped in two. He angrily tossed the broken pieces away. "Dammit!" he cursed. "Let's keep looking."

"Here's one!" d'Artagnan picked up a thick branch then held it out in front of him, trying hard to bend it. The Gascon clenched his jaws as he pushed on both ends of the stick; his muscles strained against the durability of the branch, yet it would not break. "This is perfect, Athos. If we look for branches of this size, we should make this work."

The men carefully searched and tested branches until they had several sturdy enough to withstand the jaws of the trap. They brought the sticks back then dropped them into a pile next to where Aramis lay. The medic's eyes were closed, though he obviously remained conscious as his face was grimaced in pain and his fists tightly clenched.

"This is going to take all three of us working together if we are to be successful. Porthos, I want you to use my main gauche to pry open the jaws," Athos said. The lieutenant pulled out his dagger then handed it to his friend, determination emanating from his eyes. "This most certainly will cause damage to the blade, so there is no need to have yours damaged. I will purchase a new dagger, when necessary."

"But Ath…"

"Just take it," Athos ordered curtly.

"Alright, that leaves the two of us to work the jaws," d'Artagnan said with a nod. He picked up two thick sticks and handed one to Athos. "Remember, when we get our sticks in between the jaws we have to push down together as this will start pulling the jaws apart. I cannot emphasize enough the importance, that once we start pushing the jaws apart, we cannot stop!"

"But what happens if the stick breaks?"

"Exactly why we brought extra sticks as a precautionary measure," Athos answered Porthos.

"As we push down, the jaws will open wider and wider until they finally spring open—at least, that is the hope. If a stick starts to break, we need to be quick in getting another one in its place or else…" d'Artagnan paused.

"God forbid…" Athos groaned.

"Just… do what… you… have to." Aramis swallowed hard. He shifted nervously, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come down on him. "Just… get it off."

"Aramis, as we begin to pull apart the jaws it will hurt, but you must lie still… do not move." Athos gently squeezed the medic's shoulder as he gave a tiny nod. "Sisters, hold his shoulders down; do not let him move."

The two nuns grabbed hold of the medic's shoulders and pressed down hard, nodding that they were ready.

"Are we ready, gentlemen?" Athos asked, waiting for nods from his brothers.

"God above, we ask for your hand to be upon each of these men as they attempt to free Aramis' foot from this trap," Sister Angelica prayed. "Please, help us and give us strength we pray. Amen."

Porthos closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, slowly exhaling the breath through his mouth. He carefully wedged the dagger down between the iron band and Aramis' boot, with the flat of the blade flush against the boot. "Brace yourself, 'Mis, this is going to hurt," he warned apologetically.

"Ju-just… do it."

"Alright, here we go." Porthos began to slowly twist the dagger until the edges of the blade were perpendicular to the jaws and Aramis' boot, creating a small pocket of space.

"Ahhhh!" Aramis screamed as the teeth pulled out of his ankle, separating from the boot. He bucked and tried writhing away from the hands holding him down, but the nurses held the medic firmly in place. "God… p-please… s-stop!"

"Hold still, dammit!" Athos snapped as he tried fitting his stick in between the trap and the leather boot. Finally securing the stick, he nodded to Porthos to go ahead and pull the dagger out so he could repeat the process on d'Artagnan's side.

"One more to go…" Porthos warned. The large Musketeer duplicated the daunting task of separating the jaw from Aramis' boot on the inside of his ankle, eliciting another painful scream from the medic.

"It's in!" d'Artagnan said as he quickly slid his branch in between the teeth and the boot. He took a deep breath then nodded to Athos he was ready to begin separating the jaws.

"Are you ready, 'Mis?" Porthos asked, softly squeezing the shoulder of his friend.

"Yes," Aramis nodded weakly. He understood that what they were about to do would undoubtedly cause him unbearable pain—but it was necessary. "Go… ahead and j-just get it… d-done."

Athos and d'Artagnan glanced apologetically at each other then let out a long breath. "Begin," Athos said. Together, the two men pushed down hard on their sticks, moving the iron jaws ever slightly outward.

"Arrggghhhh…" Aramis screamed out, his body jerking at the wave of agony that suddenly shot up from his ankle. Porthos and the two nuns pressed harder against the medic to keep him from thrashing around… until the writhing body under their hands suddenly went limp.

"No!" Athos hissed through his clenched teeth.

"It's alright—thank the good Lord—he's just passed out." Sister Angelica uttered after checking his pulse. "It's better this way; at least he won't suffer from the pain… the poor man."

"It's… not… budging!" d'Artagnan spat out angrily. His hands trembled as he pushed against the stick, watching with worry as the iron began digging into the wood.

"Porthos… quickly!" Athos growled. "Find another… thick stick." The lieutenant pushed down on his stick with all his strength. His arms strained against the stubborn iron band that refused to give in so easily. Beads of sweat popped out across his forehead then ran down his skin; his face now flushed bright red from exerting such pressure.

"God above, help them pry these jaws open and free this dear man!" Sister Maria prayed as she swabbed Athos' brow.

"It's… going to… break!" d'Artagnan cried out, his eyes growing wide as the stick began to crack.

Porthos found a thick branch and quickly placed it beside d'Artagnan's stick just as the wood snapped in the Gascon's hand. "Merde… that was… was too close!" d'Artagnan panted.

"Thank God!" Porthos closed his eyes, letting out a relieved breath. The large Musketeer held the stick against the iron jaw until d'Artagnan could grasp it himself and begin pushing down once again.

At last, the jaws began to slowly give. With applied strength of the two men, the jagged teeth moved out and away from Aramis' foot. The Musketeers continued their downward pressure until the jaws finally sprang open with a loud SNAP! just as Athos' stick broke apart in his hand.

"Yes!" the group yelled out in chorus.

Athos and d'Artagnan slumped sideways to the ground; their muscles now weak and worn out from such extreme effort. Streams of sweat dripped down their faces and into their eyes as they took a moment to catch their breath. Their chest heaved with heavy pants as both men lay motionless on the ground, trying to regain their strength.

"Thank you, God above!" Sisters Angelica and Maria prayed, crossing themselves with shaking hands.

Porthos carefully pulled Aramis' foot up and away from the trap then laid the medic's leg gently down on the ground. "Oi," he glanced at his hands, now slick with sticky blood.

d'Artagnan sat up then took a heavy branch and slammed it onto the trigger plate of the trap. The jaws of the trap SNAPPED! shut around the piece of wood, sending small chunks splintering into the leaves. "Just making sure this cursed thing doesn't hurt anyone—or anything—else out here."

Athos slowly sat up then went to remove Aramis' boot but was stopped short.

"No, do not remove his boot!" Sister Maria warned. "You may injure his foot further; we must wrap it tightly without removing the boot until he can be seen by a physician. Our first priority is to stop the bleeding."

Athos removed his scarf as Sister Maria removed her apron and cornette. Angelica folded the scarf and placed it over the jagged edges of the leather boot then wrapped the white headpiece around the medic's leg. The nurse then took the apron and wrapped it tightly over the makeshift bandage, knotting it directly over the outside of Aramis' ankle.

"You can put Aramis in our wagon," Sister Angelica offered. "In the back of the wagon he can lie flat while keeping his foot elevated. We will gladly ride back to your garrison with you."

"Thank you, Sister," Athos sighed with relief. "That would be quite helpful and most appreciated."

Porthos lifted Aramis in his arms and carried him to the wagon. "I'll sit with him," he said as he gently laid the medic in the wagon. He climbed into the wagon then pulled the unconscious medic backward, holding him against his chest as he scoot comfortably into the corner. Nurse Maria propped the medic's foot up on a crate then covered him with a blanket.

"d'Artagnan, I want you to ride ahead to the garrison." Athos ordered the Gascon as he mounted his horse. "Tell the captain what has happened and find out if Doctor Lemay is available. If Lemay is not there, find someone else to take his place. Aramis will need a physician ready at the moment we arrive."

"Athos, what about Benoit and Marceau down the road?" d'Artagnan motioned with his head to the east. "They don't know what's happened and will be expecting to meet us here tonight."

"Dammit!" Athos growled. "I forgot all about them."

"I can ride up the road to inform your men of what has happened here," Sister Gabrielle chimed in. "I haven't done anything but sit here all this time. Please, allow me to help in this way."

"Can you ride?" Athos asked skeptically. "I do not wish you to risk yourself in this manner, especially by yourself."

"Monsieur, I will only be alone until I reach your two men, am I not correct?" Sister Gabrielle countered. "And yes I can ride—I grew up on a farm with three brothers. If your men are trustworthy, I will ride back with them to your garrison where I will join up with my sisters."

"She sounds more than sure of herself, Athos, and quite capable of handling this task. I'll be on my way," d'Artagnan smiled at the young nun. The Gascon turned his horse and quickly raced west toward Paris at a full gallop.

"Take Aramis' horse," Athos pointed to the black mare still tied to the tree where Aramis left her hours earlier. "Tell the men to report back to the garrison immediately."

"Oui, Monsieur," Sister Gabrielle affirmed. The nurse pulled up her skirt then easily settled into the saddle. With one last nod, she turned Fidget east and raced away down the road.

Sister Angelica fetched Porthos' horse as Maria turned the wagon around to face west. Once Flip was secured, the wagon followed behind Athos' lead at a quick, but careful pace, keeping in mind the patient in the back.

Musketeer Garrison:

Captain Tréville, d'Artagnan, and Doctor Lemay anxiously awaited the arrival of the wagon bearing the injured Aramis. At last, the wagon pulled through the arched gateway to the courtyard of the Musketeer garrison, sending the waiting men scurrying into action.

Porthos still cradled the unconscious Aramis in his arms, his face masked heavily with worry. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage on both sides of the medic's ankle, staining the white material dark crimson.

"Let's get him inside… easy now," d'Artagnan said as he pulled Aramis forward. The Gascon helped Porthos carefully slide the patient to the back of the wagon where Athos waited. The lieutenant gathered Aramis into his arms and carried him to the infirmary where Dr. Lemay and the captain were waiting.

"Oh no, Aramis…" Captain Tréville groaned at the sight of his pale and bloody medic.

Athos rushed past his captain to gently place his unconscious friend on an empty cot as the doctor rolled open his medical tool kit on the bedside table. "Please help him, Doctor."

"Hmm, I dare not try pulling this boot off, lest I injure his ankle further," the doctor surmised after examining the patient. "I'll have to cut it off."

"Do what you must, Doctor Lemay," Captain Tréville nodded.

Doctor Lemay reached for a sharp blade to cut open the boot from top to bottom. "I'll beg his forgiveness later. On second thought, this boot was damaged beyond repair anyway; I have nothing to ask forgiveness for. He'll just have to buy a new pair…"

Gently, the doctor and Athos peeled away the flaps of leather, revealing bloodied gouges and torn flesh ripped apart by the metal teeth. Audible gasps echoed around the patient as the damaged ankle was exposed for the first time.

The pale skin was discolored with purple and blue bruises mixed with the deep crimson of dried blood; as well as bright red blood still oozing from the wound. The ankle was swollen to twice its normal size, further pushing out the jagged edges of the torn flesh. Deep puncture wounds exposed the ankle bone, the whiteness of which contrasted starkly against the grisly injury.

"Dear God… such a ghastly wound." Lemay shook his head in disgust. "However, considering the damage done to the thick leather hide of that boot, it probably saved his foot. If not for that sturdy boot, I would be scheduling an amputation instead."

"I think I'm going to be sick," d'Artagnan leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on his knees to hold himself upright. He took several deep breaths, letting them out slowly, until the wave of dizziness passed.

"Thank God for his floppy boots, eh?" Porthos huffed as he rubbed small circles on d'Artagnan's back in a soothing manner.

"Doctor…?" Athos asked anxiously.

"Aramis will have to undergo surgery," the doctor stated as he washed his hands and prepared the tools. "The damage to his ankle, fortunately, can be repaired; his foot should heal over the course of time. Aramis is very, very lucky—though he will be walking on crutches for a while."

"Doctor, we are nurses and can assist you in surgery," offered Sister Angelica. "We are all well trained in handling traumatic injuries."

"Yes, nurses, I would appreciate the help," Doctor Lemay replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen," the doctor nodded to the worried Musketeers, "I'm due in surgery."

Later:

"Do I still have both of my feet?" Aramis rasped in a whisper.

"Yes, mon cher, you still have two feet," Porthos smiled. "Doctor Lemay and the nurses did a great job stitchin' up your torn foot."

"Your boot wasn't so lucky, I'm afraid," d'Artagnan quipped.

"Wait… what do you mean?" Aramis asked weakly. "What… happened… to my boot?"

"Well, your boot was caught in a bear trap," Athos paused, "just like your foot, if you remember."

"But… what hap'nd to my boot?"

"The doctor cut it in two," d'Artagnan replied bluntly.

"Cut it in two?"

"Would you rather not have a foot at all?" Athos raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"I have to buy new boots…"

"Yes, but you still have two feet, brother." Porthos squeezed his friend softly on the shoulder.

"Thank God," the group chorused.

"Which reminds me of a question," Porthos said. The large man sat forward in his chair, watching his friend closely. "What were you doin' wanderin' around the forest anyway?"

"I was bored…" Aramis whispered as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

TBC

Thank you all so much for the tremendous response to the first chapter. Thank you to my guests, whom I could not respond to directly! It seems that FF is up to their usual evil tricks of not allowing us to see our reviews. Thankfully, I have my reviews linked to my emails-i.e. phone, which is always with me-so I still see your comments. I will respond to each and every one of you via PM. I will update with chapter 3 on Monday.

Have a Blessed Weekend!