7: The Seven Deadly Sins

by Bach, Tia Silverthorne

  “Yes, sir.” Thomas flicked his hand at his temple to salute, narrowing his eyes. Mockery oozed out, and he hoped his brother picked up on it.

  “You need to assess your wounded and see who can fight tomorrow. After our success yesterday—”

  “Success!” Thomas spat the word, seething inside. “What fool labeled such a loss of men a success?”

  Nicholas grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him several feet away from their previous location. “Keep your Goddamned voice down. Generals abound, and you want to yell out the word fool. What the hell is wrong with you?” With each word, Nicholas squeezed Thomas’s arm harder.

  With as much restraint as he could muster, while also determined to make a point, Thomas punched his brother in the stomach. When he doubled over, Thomas quickly straightened Nicholas back to standing. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to draw attention to themselves.

  “Don’t touch me again.” Thomas stepped back but never broke eye contact.

  Brushing off, Nicholas continued. “General Lee’s making his move at eleven. Have your men ready.”

  “And where will you be? Will you be on that front line with us or cowering in a corner, only protecting yourself?” Thomas asked.

  Nicholas reared back, his eyes narrowed and his teeth gnashing. If pain could be inflicted from a mere stare, Thomas would’ve been on his knees.

  “Do you think I didn’t see you yesterday? I led the men while you stood behind some trees and shouted orders. You were nowhere near the action, and you never moved forward.” Thomas took a step closer to his brother so their noses almost touched. “Not even as man after man fell carrying out the orders you gave.”

  Nicholas straightened, although his height was no match for his brother’s. “You have your job, and I have mine. Now, go do yours.”

  Bringing up the images of his wife and son, Thomas reminded himself of his one true mission: to get home. He headed back to his men, determined to make the best out of a bad situation. Rumors spread like wildfire. If they could take Gettysburg, they could win the war. Winning the war meant going home to his family. That was all he cared about.

  As he walked, his mind ran amok. A possible solution to his problems, a consideration that always seemed on the edge of his thoughts, re-emerged. When it did, he tried to shake it off like he had numerous times.

  All his problems would be solved by his brother’s death.

  Several times during the war, opportunities had presented themselves. All Thomas would have to have done was turn a blind eye for only a moment. Left and right, men were dying. Better men than Nicholas.

  But each time Thomas allowed himself to consider such a plan, a voice broke through. “Don’t forget your promise.” His father’s words were on repeat.

  Thomas reached up and rubbed the scar just above his right eye. A reminder of yet another time he had defended his brother and paid the consequences.

  They’d been out drinking at the local bar, and Nicholas started spouting off about one or the other of his achievements. Some of the local boys didn’t take too kindly to it, and soon, glasses and barstools were flying. A man had Nicholas by the collar, a shard of broken glass held to his throat. Thomas didn’t hesitate. He jumped in and knocked the man down, only to be accosted by another. But Thomas beat them all off. One got lucky and slashed a knife at his head, cutting into his skin. A couple more inches, and he would’ve lost an eye. A scar remained as everlasting proof of his commitment to his promise, and his brother’s failure to care about anyone but himself.

  Walking home that night, he chided Thomas for his foolishness. Never once thanking him.

  If he’d hesitated then, things would be so different.

  “You are heading down a dangerous path. Don’t forget your promise.”

  Thomas heard the words so clearly he spun around to see if anyone was following him. He knew nobody but his father would utter those words. Was he haunting Thomas from the other side? Even in death, the old curmudgeon took on the role of a bully.

  But another thought bothered Thomas even more. Was it his father’s voice? It seemed different. Maybe ghosts took on different tones.

  With a shake of his head, Thomas pushed forward. It wasn’t the time to go crazy. Sleep had been difficult since he left Casey behind. She brought out the best in him and kept the demons at bay. When he was around her, he rarely thought about killing his brother. She made Thomas believe everything would work out in the end.

  He remembered their last night of lovemaking and pushed evil thoughts aside. Before the war, he might have had a few ominous thoughts in regards to his brother. Since, they’d increased ten fold. War desensitized a man to killing. Really, every man there killed for his own reasons, or just for the hope of getting back to his family. Why should Thomas feel guilty about the same desire? Nicholas had no family of his own to go back to.

  Plus, Thomas wouldn’t have to strike the final blow. All he’d have to do was let the war do it for him.

  Stop! he screamed in his head. He and Casey would figure something out. What kind of man did he want to be for his son? For Casey? If only Thomas’s father had been fair, had split the property between his boys, had shown affection to more than one of them. If only their mother had survived. Everything would’ve been different.

  What ifs were a fool’s fantasy, and Thomas knew he had to get off that path of thinking. It wasn’t as if he wanted the land just for himself. No, his brother held that dubious distinction. Thomas wanted it so his family would flourish, so he could provide.

  “Lieutenant Anderson.”

  A voice broke through. A much-needed voice. Thomas was grateful. He turned to find a young private wringing his hat in his hands. “Sir. What are the orders for today?”

  “I need to check on the wounded. Have all the healthy men meet me in that small area over there after lunch for further instructions.” Thomas pointed to a clearing not far from them.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Although he didn’t want to see any more of his men wounded or killed, he hated a day of rest. He’d much rather be in the thick of the fight than in his own head.

  Most of his men with minor injuries had been patched up and sent back to camp. Field hospitals overflowed with the wounded. Any available building in the area—from private homes to barns—had been set up for medical care. But they were at capacity. Unsure which infirmary his men were in, or how many different ones they might be spread out in, he went to ready his horse. Some of the hospitals were up to ten miles away.

  Good. His day would be full.

  Within an hour, he was on his way. Cannon blasts and gunfire filled the air. He wondered how many more men would be lost. When he arrived at the first hospital, he tied up his horse and went inside.

  A stench—a mixture of feces, blood, urine, and antiseptic—greeted him at the door. Body after body lay in rows, resting on cots. Moans and groans filled the room. God, if I must go, please, take me quickly. I don’t want to languish in some place like this, Thomas prayed.

  How could he be expected to find his men amongst all the wounded? Thanks to wrappings and covers, few discernable features stood out.

  “Thomas…”

  He spun around toward the muffled voice to find Andrew lying in a bed not three feet away. He’d fallen to the ground near Thomas, from a bullet wound to the thigh, the day before. Although the boy was probably eighteen or nineteen, he didn’t look a day over fourteen, which reminded Thomas of Benji. Refusing to lose another man, Thomas had scooped Andrew up and taken him over to where Nicholas stood, well hidden from any action. By the end of the day, Thomas had laid ten to fifteen men in the same spot. At least his brother had managed to keep them safe in his little hiding spot.

  Taking the boy’s hand, Thomas asked, “How are you doing, Andrew?”

  “I’m grateful for what you did yesterday. If you hadn’t…” Andrew turned his head to the side. After a few sniffles, he turned back. “Well, just thank you. I’m
the last of my brothers. My mother would’ve been devastated.”

  “Glad I could help. I have a son of my own, you know. He’s a little fellow. Haven’t even met him yet.”

  “You’ll make a great father.”

  After getting some information from Andrew about the other wounded in the building, Thomas went around and visited them all. Then, he chased down a doctor to get updates on everyone’s condition. Some patients were expected to make it, but others—including Andrew—weren’t. None would be able to fight the next day.

  A few more hours and several more hospital sites later, Thomas returned to camp with little time to spare and no new men. They were definitely facing an uphill battle the next day.

  Upon his return, Nicholas approached. It was as if he had a homing device tracking his brother. “So?”

  “Most of the men in those hospitals are fighting for their lives. They won’t be helping us tomorrow. Any word on Pickett?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “It sounds like the 26th will be towards the front of the attack.”

  Wherever will you hide? Thomas thought. A sinking feeling hit him in the gut. Something in Longstreet’s voice—the obvious sound of doubt—played over and over again. Something in his tone was foreboding.

  Morning came too soon. Most of the men had been up all night. Pickett had only arrived with his troops the previous evening, and strategizing went late into the night. That day had been more about waiting than fighting.

  As Thomas readied his troops, he saw another meeting of the minds and sought a spot to hear their plans. Again, he stayed on the periphery. Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

  General Lee discussed details with Pickett and Longstreet. While Pickett seemed raring to go, Longstreet appeared apprehensive, both in his body language and his tone of voice.

  “No 15,000 men who ever lived could take that position,” Longstreet said during the discussion.

  Thomas backed away upon hearing the words. Rumors had spread among the men that the general thought the upcoming attack was a suicide mission. Not what Thomas wanted replaying in his mind as they headed into battle. No 15,000 men. Quite the statement. Thomas could imagine packing the field with highly trained assassins and still failing, and his men weren’t dedicated killers.

  Many of the men had been discussing their fear that General Lee was over-confident thanks to recent wins. Cockiness and war didn’t mix, and Thomas feared the possible repercussions.

  With mounting concerns pressing down on him, he brought out a picture of Casey from their wedding day. It was bent at the corners and cracked in places, but it stayed in his shirt pocket, close to his heart. Although the photo was black and white, Thomas saw vivid colors in his mind: the beautiful purple flowers in her bouquet, her red-stained lips, pink cheeks, sparkling eyes the color of the sea. He could feel her love, even hundreds of miles away.

  “Everyone ready their troops!” The command came from several different directions.

  Thomas carefully tucked the photo back in his pocket and hoofed it back to camp to rally his men. They would need to head over to their designated area: at the southern point, near Cemetery Ridge, along with Pickett’s forces.

  Preparation for battle always had a lot of wait time, yet everyone hurried. They were in place long before they needed to be, which only raised the men’s anxiety as they stared across the open field.

  Open.

  No cover.

  Still, no Nicholas.

  Thomas figured his brother was scoping out a good hiding place and focused on bigger concerns.

  “Today, we fight for our wives, our children, and our families. Today, we honor the Confederacy,” one of the high-ranking officers said as he sat on his horse and trotted back and forth in front of the men.

  Nicholas, as the higher-ranking officer, should’ve been there. But the men didn’t respect him. As the time to march closed in on them, each man lined up, his rifle in position.

  An eerie quiet settled for a brief moment.

  Then, Thomas saw Nicholas, far in the back, and ran over.

  “You need to come up front with us,” Thomas said.

  “We aren’t going to win here today. Why stay?” Nicholas’s eyes were wide, and his voice was shaky.

  “We stay for our men. We stay because it’s our duty,” Thomas said.

  But Nicholas started backing up, his eyes cast down at the ground.

  Grabbing his arm, Thomas pulled his brother close. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m leaving. Who’ll stop me? They’ll think I just disappeared or died. I can’t be here. I wasn’t meant for battle.”

  “And bring dishonor to our family!” Thomas saw red. Here he was fighting for his wife and child, and his brother would bring shame to all of them. “Over my dead body.” Pulling him by the arm, Thomas forced his brother to the front of the line.

  As soon as they were in position, the sound of drums filled the stale air. They waited. Then, they heard the command. It seemed to echo throughout the valley, coming from both sides of them.

  “Forward!”

  In step with each other, the troops moved toward their fate. They had some ground to cover, but the first cannon blast rocked the ground within minutes, followed by gunfire and screams.

  Still, the line advanced. Left. Right. Left. Right. Around them, men fell. But the line kept moving.

  Suddenly, a cannon exploded, throwing Thomas, Nicholas, and a few others to the ground. They scrambled to their feet and continued their march.

  All except Nicholas.

  Thomas scanned the area. Blue and gray filled his vision, as body after body marched the field. Then, his eye caught a familiar gait, facing the wrong direction. Only Nicholas would retreat at such a time. His body language was frantic, confused, as he turned his head side to side. Thomas knew panic when he saw it.

  Afraid the no-good coward would escape, Thomas circled around behind his brother and blocked his path, forcing him forward. After a few feet, they came upon a long wooden fence barricading their path.

  Once Nicholas was over, he’d have no option but to move forward, at least not easily. At the fence, he hesitated.

  He grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and shook him. “Brother, don’t make me go. You promised Father you’d look out for me.”

  “I’m here with you, am I not?” They were in a precarious position, and Thomas knew they had to keep moving. “You two!” Thomas yelled to two privates standing on the other side of the fence. “Please, help Captain Anderson over.”

  The men grabbed Nicholas and hoisted him to the top of the fence.

  Thomas couldn’t help but smirk as his brother stared, unmoving, still atop the fence.

  Putting one foot on a rung to catapult over, Thomas noticed a man in dark blue not too far away, his rifle trained in their direction.

  Nicholas hadn’t moved.

  Thomas reached forward, planning to knock his brother to the other side.

  But hesitation caused Thomas’s hand to still.

  Such a simple ending to all his problems. He could stand back while the war gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It wouldn’t be his fault. In the precarious position, up above the others, Nicholas was an easy target.

  A flash of silver—coins and the necklace from the dream—sent Thomas into action.

  In two movements, he threw himself over the fence, taking his brother down, too. As they fell, gunfire rang out. He screamed, and Thomas saw a dark red spot spread throughout his brother’s white shirt at the bottom of his ribs.

  A new plan formed in Thomas’s head. He could drag his brother back to camp. Odds were he’d die before they could get to help, but Nicholas would be out of harm’s way, allowing Thomas to technically honor his promise.

  Nicholas explored his torso and drew back a blood-soaked hand. As he brought it up, it shook. “Take me to the hospital. They’ll understand you saving your brother. I can sign over a parcel of land and build a better house for you
and—” He couldn’t finish as coughs wracked his body.

  Thomas drew in a breath. His brother’s wound looked serious. Would he make it either way?

  “Don’t forget your promise.”

  Looking around for help, Thomas noticed one of his men still on the other side of the fence.

  “What do we do, sir?” the private yelled. “It’s not looking good.”

  Wide eyes stared at Thomas, and he could see the boy’s fear. Another man’s son.

  Instincts kicked in. “This officer is wounded. I’m going to get him over to you, and I want you to get him to safety. Do you understand?” Thomas asked.

  The private nodded.

  Summoning every ounce of available strength, Thomas lifted his brother, easing him over the fence and into the waiting arms of the private and another man who’d come over to help.

  “We’ve got him, sir,” the young boy said.

  For a moment, a numb feeling spread through Thomas as he watched the private put Nicholas on a blanket and begin to drag him away. Turning back toward the ridge, Thomas saw several of his men staring. Waiting for an order. Waiting for him.

  He imagined his son’s face, warm and safe in his mother’s arms. Both of them waiting for Thomas. So much depended on him. He stood, straightening to his full height, and grabbed his gun from the ground.

  All he had to do was survive. Stay focused and claim victory. “Forward!” he yelled to his men.

  Two steps in, he heard the unmistakable whistle of a cannon. One that was too close. In front of him, the ground erupted, and he felt the earth shake just as he registered stabs of searing pain all over his body.

  He felt himself falling.

  Fighting the sensation, he forced his legs to stiffen, trying to stay upright. Casey. His memory held close every detail of his wife’s face, and her image, much like the photo he carried, became crystal clear in his mind. Tommy had likely already changed. Tommy. Images of the child Thomas longed to hold flashed before his eyes, from infant to a grown man, Thomas’s mind projecting hope. Then, one leg buckled, followed by the second.