“Captain Truckey!” I quickly saluted.
“Men,” he nodded to us. “Good work. Remember to keep your eyes open and your heads down. Private Rivers, you’re to report to the hospital station immediately.”
He started to move away, but I reached out for the horse’s bridle to stop him. “What? What did you say?” I quickly added, “Sir?”
He gave me a look of impatience, but he spoke with an even voice. “I said, you’re to report to the hospital tent. They are setting up in the clearing about a quarter mile back. You will assist in whatever they need. Report in to Doctor Davis.”
“But sir, I don’t understand. I’m a soldier; I’m here to fight for my country.”
“Private, I gave you a direct order. Are you refusing?”
I faltered. “No, um, of course not. I just don’t understand.” I looked to Toby for help, but he shrugged, as confused as me. I turned back to the captain.
He glanced at a pocket watch before replying. “Private, I have sent far too many green soldiers into battle, under prepared and under trained. And far too many have died. I will not do that again, if at all possible. You require further training before facing the Rebels. Today you shall assist in the hospital tent. Don’t worry; you’ll soon get a taste of the front line.”
I slowly nodded, remembering belatedly to salute at his retreating back.
I shrugged helplessly at Toby, and he gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Captain Truckey generally knows what he’s talking about.”
“And even if he didn’t,” I added, “I received a direct order, like it or not. I guess I’ll see you later?” My words inadvertently came out more as a question than as a statement.
“God willing,” he murmured.
“God willing,” I whispered.
I felt I was literally and figuratively turning my back on the Army of the Ohio as I made my way down the road towards the hospital tent. I received a couple of curious glances, but most men had enough to do without paying me any mind.
Then I heard a thundering commotion behind me. I jerked around to find the Rebel army approaching Campbell’s Station. So like ourselves, except that the men wore brownish-gray uniforms. Fifteen minutes. We’d beat them to the intersection by fifteen minutes. My feet begged me to run back to my unit, my heart longed to return to fight beside my fellow Union troops. But I had a darned direct order. Feeling traitorous, I continued on towards the hospital tent, walking backwards with my eyes riveted on the explosions between the North and the South. The air filled with the ear-aching blasts of thousands of rifles, and the roar of exploding cannons. My hands flew up to cover my ears as my eyes began to itch from the heavy smoke drifting over on a breeze. Then I witnessed a man fall, blood spurting dark red out of his neck. I turned and ran for the hospital tent.
Heart pounding in near panic, I stumbled into the clearing where a group of thirty or so worked in an organized frenzy to set up the mobile hospital facilities. Men yanked folded canvas tents from the wagon beds while others stacked stretchers for easy access. Two fellows brushed past me carrying a large crate between them. One tripped in his haste, dropping his hold, and the crate tipped over spilling cloth bandages and surgical equipment into the mud.
“You clumsy clod!”
“You’re the clod, idiot!”
“Doc Davis is going to kill us.”
“Us? You’re the one who dirtied his cutting tools!”
“Are you injured, soldier?”
“Huh?” I jerked around to find a young woman studying me with concerned eyes. Shocked, the words tangled on my tongue. Besides the prostitutes that followed the army, and a few of the officers’ wives, women tended to be a bit rare. This girl looked too young to be married to an officer, and judging from her clothes, she didn’t hang around as a prostitute.
She stood on tiptoe and peered into my eyes. “Did you hit your head, soldier? Can you understand me? Are you bleeding?”
I shook my head to clear out her flood of questions. “No, no I’m fine.”
She raised her blond eyebrows in doubt.
“Honest. Look, my captain told me to report to Doctor Davis. Know him?”
She nodded and motioned for me to follow her. We stepped between the two arguing orderlies and over the ruined bandages soaking up the mud. The woman pointedly tossed an order to them over her shoulder.
“Boys, get this cleaned up and then deliver a new crate of supplies to the doctors. The wounded will be arriving any minute, and we need to be ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused, immediately following her instructions.
Amazed at their obvious respect toward the young woman, I studied her a little closer. She appeared about average height, yet I had to quicken my long legs to keep up with her fast-moving shorter ones. Blonde hairs blew free of the tight bun positioned at the nape of her neck to curl lightly against her pale, oval-shaped face. Green, slightly slanted eyes, sparkled with intelligence, determination and authority. She wore a dark gray, long fitted dress covered with a white smock apron. Sturdy boots sloshed through the puddles, splashing mud onto her hem, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you have a name, soldier?”
“Yeah, I’m Bobbi, um, I mean Private Rivers, ma’am.” I’m not exactly sure why I threw in the ‘ma’am’; something about this lady just seemed to demand respect.
“My name is Nurse Davis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended a slim hand in my direction.
Caught off guard, I clumsily shook her firm grip, tripping over a stack of stretchers and almost falling on my face. Her calloused fingers clamped down even harder, hauling me back to my feet. Her slender frame contradicted her powerful strength.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, a bit embarrassed. Then her words clicked in my head. “Davis? Are you related to Doctor Davis?”
She nodded. “He’s my father.”
Before I could ask any more questions, she ducked into a large canvas tent. I had to pause just inside to let my eyes adjust to the lower light level. And just as I began to make out the shadowed shapes, someone yanked up one entire canvas wall, blinding me with the sudden appearance of the grayish light. When I could finally see again, I noticed Nurse Davis motioning for me to join her. She had managed to grab the attention of a busy surgeon, presumably Doctor Davis.
The graying doctor fidgeted impatiently while scanning down a list on his clipboard. He cast me an irritated glace as I approached, as if resenting these precious seconds wasted before the wounded started trickling in to the tents. I quickened my step.
Nurse Davis turned to the surgeon. “Doctor Davis, this is Private Rivers. He’s here to assist.”
Doctor Davis? She calls her pa, Doctor Davis? Well, I guess that’s better than some of the things I’ve called my own pa.
“Sir,” I saluted. “Captain Truckey sent me.”
“Ah, yes, I spoke with the captain this morning and he filled me in on the situation. You can help out by assisting the nurses and the orderlies, by moving the patients in, getting them a sip of water, by bringing in fresh bandages, the like. Any questions?”
I opened my mouth to ask one, but he hurried on before I could say anything.
“Good. Nurse Davis here will get you started.” And with that he thundered off into the brewing bedlam.
I turned back to Nurse Davis expectantly, finding a hint of sadness in her eyes as she watched the surgeon hurry away from her. But when she gave her attentions to me, her eyes only held determination and self-assurance.
“So,” she began, “do you have any experience with the wounded?”
“I’ve knocked my own shoulder out of joint a couple of times. Oh, and I watched Doc back home stitch me up when a bear cub put a gash in my leg.”
Her green eyes widened slightly. “A bear?”
“Oh,” I quickly assured her, “he was just a baby, and he didn’t mean no harm, just playing with me.”
“Hm, okay, anything else? Any other ex
perience?”
“I helped rescue a shipwrecked sailor, but as far as medically speaking, we only took off his wet clothes and warmed him. Then Doc arrived and did the rest.”
She nodded slightly, seemingly unimpressed. That irked me.
“Hey, we did a good job, you know, of rescuing that fellow! A raging storm had Lake Superior in quite a temper. My friend and I traipsed out there in a dinky little rowboat. He almost died. We almost died.”
She looked a bit surprised at my outburst, but took her time in replying. She picked up a box of morphine bottles and started for the front of the tent, speaking over her shoulder. “That was very brave of you and your friend. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”
Now my mind bumbled in confusion. What had caused her to do a hundred and eighty turn from haughty indifference to cautiously complimentary in 2.3 seconds? “What’s your problem? You asked for my medical experience and I gave it to you. Why the attitude?”
She paused in the doorway and I almost ran into her. “My attitude has nothing to do with this. If I offended you in any way, I apologize. Your medical experience is a bit limited, that is all. This isn’t your fault. We’ll accept any help that’s offered.”
Feeling a bit miffed, I replied a little too sharply. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have medical training, but I didn’t sign up to be a surgeon. I signed up to be a soldier, and I’m a dang better shot than most anyone here! How’s your aim?”
She visibly stiffened at that and turned to me with her eyes blazing. “I do not shoot guns; I fix the damage they cause!”
“Oh, so just how much medical experience do you have, Nurse Davis?” I eyed her up and down; she appeared to be about my age.
She sighed wearily. “I happened to have more training than most surgeons, thanks to my father. And for you information, my reaction to your answers wasn’t criticism. I am sorry if that is how you perceived it. I was just a bit disappointed as the wounded soldiers need all of the care and comfort that we can give them.”
Oh. Well now I felt stupid and hotheaded. Why did I always fly off with my temper at the slightest provocation, or in this case, an imagined provocation. Nurse Davis had started walking again, and I ran to catch up with her.
“I, uh, owe you an apology, ma’am. I guess I’m just a bit bent out of whack with the battle and all. It’s my first, and my captain stuck me here. A bit of an insult, if you ask me. Tell me what I can do to help.”
She acknowledged my apology with a quick nod of her head and stopped at the side of the road to wait for two men approaching from the direction of the battle. They appeared to be loaded down with a heavy sack of some kind, but my attentions shifted to the echoing blasts of gunfire that reached my ears even from this far away. Smoke reeking of gunpowder rose over the treetops and drifted down on the breeze.
“Here they come,” she whispered.
The gravity in her voice pulled a huge lump into my throat and a sliver of fear scurried up my spine. I slowly turned to meet her haunted eyes. Suddenly, I knew with total certainty that I wasn’t ready for this, and I felt like digging in my heels with all of my might to halt time.
“You want to help?” she asked. “Here’s your chance. Grab that stretcher and run out to unload the wounded…”
Stop!
“…bring them into the large tented area and line them up…”
Stop!
“…try to control any bleeding…”
Stop!
“…and try to make them comfortable until a surgeon can get to them. For example, offer a sip of water, only a sip. Cover them with a blanket. Hold their hand. Do you understand?”
Time refused to stop, so I had no choice but to follow her specific orders. The approaching men had gotten close enough for me to make out their soot-coated faces, smoke-reddened eyes, the desolately stooped shoulders. And what I had at first thought a heavy sack emerged into the limp form of an unconscious soldier with a blood-soaked uniform. Forcing myself to move, I grabbed a stretcher from the pile and hurried out to meet the men.
I read gratitude in the eyes of the man on the right as I helped him ease the injured soldier down from his shoulder. The other man’s eyes stared blankly, glazed over with fear and despair. Once relieved of his load, he sunk to the ground, staring into nothing. I couldn’t tell if anything physically plagued him; he didn’t appear to be bleeding. So I left him for the moment, grabbing one end of the stretcher with the other fellow taking the foot end. Together we carried the pale-faced man into the hospital tent. Orderlies swarmed us as soon as we entered, ready and waiting to treat the wounded. They took the stretcher from our hands, placing it down on one of the tables. Dr. Davis went to work immediately, removing the blood soaked shirt to examine the damage. So much blood, it pooled on the table, dripping to the floor in a steady rhythm, like a heart beat: drip, drip, drip…
Nurse Davis broke my horrified trance by stepping through my locked gaze. She brushed by me to check on the soldier who had helped carry the stretcher. She placed a gentle hand on his wrist, calmly steering him to a nearby chair while subtly checking his pulse. I suddenly remembered the soldier slumped down by the road. I hurried back out into the weak, gray light, searching for the other soldier. He’d been right there, next to the rutted, muddy road. Maybe he returned to battle, though I doubted it. He couldn’t even stand upright. Maybe he had been hurt and crawled off into the brush and died! Movement up the road caught my eye, and I turned expectantly, but instead of the missing fellow, I noticed more wounded soldiers limping in from the battle, along with some two-wheeled ambulances pulled by wide-eyed horses. Should I take the time to go look for the missing man, or hurry to meet the newcomers?
Piss! What to do? Over there! He lay in the middle of the road about fifty yards away, half-crawling, half-dragging himself. I ran over, hearing him mumbling under his breath. I managed to pick out one or two words, like home and escape. Realization seeped slowly into my crowded brain. The soldier aimed to run away, run back home, away from this nightmare I’d stumbled into.
I glanced back at the approaching wounded and decided I had a minute or two, so I hurried over to the lost-looking soldier. As the sound of my footfalls reached him, he jerked to awareness, his bloodied fingers gripping the sheath of a knife. Cautiously, I slowed, not wanting to startle him.
“Soldier,” I called out, “are you okay?”
He shrieked in terror, cringing into a tight ball, his knifed hand slicing blindly in the air.
I froze, partially in surprise, partially to keep from frightening the man further. What kind of horrors had he witnessed to affect him so? I stared at his wild, unseeing eyes, peering out from under his protective arm. I eased closer, moving quietly. At five feet away, I squatted down and aimed my voice as if speaking to an injured bird or fox.
“Soldier? Soldier, can you hear me?”
He responded with animal-like grunts. I peered through the dirt and blood smeared across his face, not recognizing him, almost not recognizing his eyes as human. Obviously, the fellow had slipped off the edge of sanity and had locked himself up in a dark corner of his mind. I doubted that Dr. Davis could offer any help for that with his bandages and stitches, but some of the cuts and gashes looked nasty and needed attention. And maybe a dose of morphine might do something to calm his nerves. I eyed him, guessing I stood a few inches taller, but he outweighed me by fifty pounds. Of course, first I would have to do something about the knife.
I murmured soothing noises as I inched closer, my eyes never leaving the big blade. “Easy there, fellow, easy.” Almost…
I reached out lightening quick and snagged the man’s wrist. He howled in a rage so primitive in nature, that I almost lost my hold in surprise. He jerked his wrist back with a powerful strength, dragging me down as if I weighed no more than a pocket hanky. I tumbled hard to the muddy ground with a grunt. Before I could take a breath, the soldier flopped around and pinned me, the knife at my throat!
I didn’t dar
e breathe as the knife pressed into my flesh. I froze in hopes of my submission calming his crazed rage. But the knife pressed harder. I felt the blade cut…
No! I refused to give into the hand of a madman, especially one wearing the same uniform! I drudged up any courage and authority I could find hiding in my bones and braced it into my voice.
“At ease, soldier!”
His eyes focused for a split second, and I grabbed at the moment, kicking up with all of my strength, flipping him off of me. I scrambled to all fours and lunged again for his knife. The soldier’s split second of focus disappeared just as fast, and we struggled for control of the knife, rolling around in the muddy street until I finally wrenched it free. The man instantly stopped resisting, falling against me with a heaving sob. I patted his shoulder awkwardly while trying to catch my breath, finding it difficult to back down from defensive mode to one of comfort. I didn’t know what to do with his knife; the offensive weapon displayed a dull, chipped blade and a rotting wood handle. No way would I stick the thing in my pocket; I could catch a splinter, or worse. Deciding, I took a quick glance around and then tossed it over my shoulder into the forest. I crawled to my feet, took a hold of the soldier and hauled him next to me. He cooperated, sort of, and slumped against me. We slowly made our way to the hospital tent. My body tensed in preparedness for another potential attack, but it didn’t come; the fight had all drained out of him. An orderly met me and I quickly explained what had happened. The orderly took the disorientated man’s arm and led him to a cot in the back. I stared after them, wondering what could have caused such a complete breakdown. Perhaps he had seen a horror up close and raw, like his own brother’s death.
Shouting from the approaching wounded pulled me away from the conundrum, and I hurried to meet them, grabbing a stretcher on the run.
The day proceeded, hour after hour crawling by as I assisted in any way I could. I began to notice a tightening in my chest, right around my heart and moving up into my throat. It seemed to worsen each time a new soldier arrived to the tent, and eased slightly after I scanned his face. I slowly came to realize that I was looking for familiar faces. Witnessing these horrific injuries disturbed me more than I’d expected, but if it happened to a friend, like Woody or Toby…had something like this happened to Robert? A cold fist clenched my stomach tight, and for a moment the water I’d just guzzled down threatened to reappear. I grabbed a hold of the tent’s corner pole for support and gulped in air, trying to calm my stomach.
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 10
