Demons at War

by P A Minyard

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

  “I don’t want you to die!” Jonathan couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want Daniel to die either.”

  Beth stood from the bed and stopped just short of him. “Daniel would never leave us.”

  “How do you know that?” Jonathan’s hand began to shake. “Though he’s courageous, he’s also very cautious. I believe he’s too smart to take unnecessary risks.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I don’t want you to give it another thought,” she said. “Mother and Father are counting on you now more than ever.”

  “It feels at times as though they don’t trust me.” His voice cracked. Beth reached out for her little brother. She held him as his body heaved, holding back the rush of tears.

  “It’s not that. It’s not that at all. They simply aren’t ready to let go just yet,” she said in a comforting tone. Jonathan wrapped his arms around his sister as if holding on for dear life.

  “Promise that you won’t leave me,” he said. Beth closed her eyes tightly, summoning the courage to answer him.

  “What will become of my dear, sweet Jonathan?” she said with a steady voice. “You are far too kind for your own good. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you. How could I possibly leave?” She pushed him slightly back so he could see the smile on her face.

  “You won’t tell Father or Mother about this, will you?” he sighed. “Not a word,” she assured him with a wink. “But you must promise not to hold out on me anymore. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” he answered as he led her back to her bed.

  2

  ANTIETAM

  Daniel stood outside his tent, overseeing his men as they set up camp. His full beard hid his youthful features well. His eyes, closed by the burn of gunpowder from battle, were like slits, but his lean frame was steady and unyielding. The soldiers’ movements were slow, weary from two days of fighting and burdened by the blood and dirt now caked to their shoes. There was no shock or horror on their faces, only solemn resignation. Some had been fighting now for more than a year; some were new to the effort; and some would not see the sunrise the following day. They were silent as they went about their duties, yet several raised their eyes to him and nodded, grateful for another day, grateful they were still alive.

  Daniel heaved a sigh as he retreated to his tent. He sat down on the narrow cot, reached for a lamp on the ground, placed it on a small wooden table, and lit the wick. Dusk had already begun to darken the tent. He turned away from the entrance and stretched out his legs, but he had only a moment’s peace before a sergeant entered his tent.

  “Sergeant?” Daniel’s voice was like gravel.

  “You sent for me, Major Parker,” the sergeant replied.

  “How many, Sergeant?” Daniel asked, still turned away.

  “Almost half, sir, dead or wounded,” the sergeant replied. Daniel’s shoulders heaved in disgust.

  “Make sure Captain Barnes has those numbers. That will be all. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The sergeant turned to leave the tent, making way for Captain Gerald Duffy who waited at the entrance. The tall, handsome, young officer was barely recognizable, his strawberry-blond hair matted with sweat, his face and mustache painted with soot. His clothes were spattered with blood.

  “We have new orders, Major Parker,” Duffy said as he stepped inside the tent. Daniel remained motionless as if he did not hear him.

  “Orders, sir,” Duffy pressed. Daniel continued to stare down at his blood-soaked boots, his eyes barely blinking, even though they still stung from gunpowder.

  “Daniel...” Duffy’s voice had softened.

  Still dumbfounded by battle, he turned to look at his friend. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Daniel asked.

  “You can’t think on it so much,” Duffy said.

  “This isn’t at all what I expected when we left the Academy.”

  “What do you mean?” Duffy asked. “You made captain and then major in record time.”

  “Because I have a talent for getting boys slaughtered?”

  “You were following orders, and you led them out when the call came. What more were you supposed to do?”

  “We owe them more than that,” Daniel replied. “Duff, those boys trust us. Did you see how they fought? Not one under my command ran, even as they watched the men beside them get cut down.” Daniel’s cheeks began to flush. “And now I’m supposed to go before them with new orders?!”

  Duff pulled his gaze away from Daniel. “You are far too taken with these events so early in this conflict.”

  “Conflict?! We are at war and have been so for nearly 14 months now. I’m afraid I do not share your enthusiasm for the fighting.”

  “It is not enthusiasm,” Duff replied. “It is simply what we do; what we were trained to do.” He paused to wipe the blackened sweat from his brow.

  “I worry that your compassion will one day get the better of you.”

  “I always thought my brother Jonathan was the sensitive one,” Daniel sighed. “Where will they have us now?”

  “We are to move into Maryland and join forces with the Army of the Potomac.”

  “Make the arrangements to move the wounded to a safe haven,” Daniel said. “The rest of the boys will continue north.”

  “Yes, sir, Major Parker.” Duff saluted.

  Daniel simply waved him out of the tent. He stood up, listening to the boys as they finished setting up camp, and could smell the fires that had just been lit. He was an eternity away from the whir of bullets and screams of stricken soldiers that buzzed around him only hours earlier. He stepped forward out of the tent and stopped. He looked back and forth across the encampment, marveling at the bustle of men, the clanking of tin cups, the utter normalcy of it all.

  The afternoon sun brightened the tent as Daniel removed his jacket and laid it across the cot before sitting down. His lips tightened, then loosened around the pipe in his mouth. The whiskers on his chin danced in symphony with each movement, and the pungent odor of tobacco filled the air as he composed another letter to Jonathan.

  September 15, 1862

  Dear Jonathan,

  My days of endless drills and training seem so far removed from me now. We’ve moved north and once again prepare for battle. The boys are ripe for a fight, and I marvel at their strength. I’ve earned their trust and respect, and know that they would follow me to hell itself, but I would much rather lead them safely back to their homes. They give so much without complaint or want for any reward.

  I think of you, Beth, Mother and Father often. I will be home for Christmas, as it is only a few months away. Foul weather will probably slow the fighting if it even still rages then. I’ve been told our numbers far outweigh the Confederate forces. Their resources are few, and they’ll probably give up soon. I look forward to sharing stories with you by the fireside.

  Please give my love to everyone, and tell Mother not to worry.

  Your brother,

  Daniel

  Duff entered Daniel’s tent with a wide smile on his lips. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey.

  “You are a true gentleman,” Daniel said as he motioned Duff to take a seat. The bottle was passed back and forth between the two in silence at first.

  “How long are we to sit here?” Duff finally asked. “We know where Lee is. Why are we waiting?”

  “You would question the leader of our nation’s greatest force?”

  “I would call him a fool, if he were not in earshot,” Duff laughed. “Are you that eager for battle, my friend?” Daniel took another swig from the bottle and stared silently at the pipe in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Duff asked.

  “This is different,” Daniel replied. “Something powerful is about to happen here. You can see it in the boys’ faces, and hear it in their voices. I approve of the caution McClellan is taking.”

  “I’d say you’ve had enough,” Duff declared as he
snatched the bottle out of his hand.

  Daniel placed the pipe back in his mouth and began puffing away again. He could see Duff’s eyes dart down toward the letter.

  “Writing to your brother again?” Duff asked, quickly turning the conversation around.

  “I’m glad he’s still home. I fear one day I will turn and see him lined up amongst the troops.”

  “You said he never liked guns; never liked to go hunting.”

  “He’s far too eager to impress me,” Daniel said. “I’m worried he’ll run off any day now.”

  “I doubt your father would let that happen.”

  “I can only hope you’re right.”

  Duff took another swig and swirled what was left of the whiskey around in the bottle thoughtfully. “What would you do if Jonathan did come in with a band of new recruits?”

  “What are you getting at?” Daniel asked, taken aback.

  “What would you do?”

  “There’s no need to think on it because it’s not going to happen.” “You really don’t have the stomach for any of this, do you?”

  “And how is it that you do?” Daniel shot back. “What’s so appealing about the things we’ve witnessed, about the things we’ve done? We were trained to protect people and save lives, not to take them needlessly.”

  “Actually, we were trained for all of those things.”

  “I swear it’s as if the devil himself has sent you here to torment me,” Daniel said. He shook his head, then reached for the bottle once more.

  “Does your mother know you swear?” Duff handed over the bottle, flashing a wicked grin.

  Daniel tucked his letter to Jonathan inside his jacket pocket. He walked a short distance past the other officers’ quarters, picking up Duff along the way. They were convening for final orders. The air inside the major general’s tent was thick and stifling. Several of the officers smoked furiously in an attempt to calm their nerves. The stench of sweat and tobacco permeated the small area, adding to the tension. Once the assignments were handed down, Duff and Daniel moved out of earshot of those who remained behind. They had been glancing back and forth at one another as the battle plan was laid out.

  “Looks like we’ll be attacking from the East Woods.” Duff stroked his mustache.

  “That cornfield concerns me,” Daniel replied, tapping his finger on the map in front of them. “No cover there.” He stared back at Duff. “Do you believe the scouting report is accurate?”

  “They definitely have artillery along the West Woods as well as the fence line to the South, but the wooded area is thick and the count is uncertain.”

  “A swift approach might afford us the upper hand,” Daniel said. “That’s up to Hooker now. We’re under his command.”

  “Indeed.”

  Daniel excused himself and slowly walked to the back of the camp. He wished to deliver his letter to the private who handled the post. The men would march at first light the following morning, and he noticed he wasn’t the only one in camp looking for a diversion. Some played cards or similar games of chance while others wrote letters with the hope of sending them off that afternoon. Still others had taken to reading their bibles, flipping to the dog-eared pages that held comforting passages.

  Daniel stopped to watch a battalion drilling in the midday sun. They marched in unison, row after row of thick, blue uniforms set to purpose and moving in harmony. The air was still, and for a brief moment, there was silence as if the world had stopped to take notice of the scene that lay before him. The pale-blue sky stretched out like a banner in their honor as the sun gleamed off their well-polished rifles; both beautiful and daunting, never had he seen such a sight. He wondered if he ever would again.

  He retreated to his tent and tried to get some rest, but his cot always felt harder and unwelcoming before a battle, causing him to toss and turn. Sleep was not on the agenda. Soon the bustle of men preparing to fight would be impossible to ignore. He sat up from the cot and pulled his boots on before stepping over to the stand and lighting the lamp. It was still very early, barely hours past midnight. His coat was draped across one of the stools, and Daniel reached into the left breast pocket and pulled out a small picture of his family.

  “Whatever happens this day, I pray you look back on me with pride,” he thought. He gazed at the photo and found a smile before placing it back in his coat pocket. It was his ritual before battle and the last thing he’d do before leaving his tent to attend to orders.

  Darkness blanketed the camp, protecting the soldiers as long it could. Death would have its say in the morning. Daniel walked among his men as they prepared for the fight. His nod and occasional pat on the shoulder told the boys of his concern for their well-being. He made sure to check on each man in his company before taking his position.

  First light brought cannon fire along with an endless spray of bullets; the battle had begun. Daniel and Duff moved up and down the lines, keeping the boys calm and urging them forward. Men fell in rows where they had stood only seconds earlier, but the tremendous loss of life was not enough to deter either side. Their courage never wavering, the men pushed forward over the backs of their fallen brothers. Wave after wave — first Union, then Confederate soldiers — pushed forward, then fell back within the cornfield, the moans of dying men and cries for help drowned out by the cacophony. When a bullet passed through his thigh, Daniel felt as though his leg had been set on fire. It knocked him down, but it was merely a flesh wound, a minor annoyance. He pushed himself off the ground and continued limping up and down the lines of men, keeping order where he could. His voice was hoarse from shouting.

  Amidst the confusion and thunderous roar of battle, he noticed a soldier walking aimlessly along the back line. The soldier’s gait stuttered as he walked sideways, and his left shoulder slouched forward, frozen in place by a bullet. He had a blank stare on his blood-smeared face and Daniel feared he would wander back into the thick of things. He hurried toward the soldier only to be beaten to him by a Union officer he’d never seen before. He held the rank of colonel and grabbed the soldier’s jacket shaking him fiercely.

  “Pick up your rifle, boy! Back to the front with you!”

  The soldier stared back at the colonel with no comprehension of the order.

  “Did you hear me boy?!” the colonel shouted. “I said fight!”

  Daniel intervened, forcing the colonel to release the young man. “He’s done with battle. Can’t you see it in his eyes?”

  “No!” the colonel said, turning sharply, “but I can see it in yours.” He grabbed Daniel’s throat, then reached for the ten-inch knife secured upon his belt and viciously thrust it into Daniel’s chest.

  Panic raced through Daniel as he heard his ribs snap and felt the breath leave his body. He struggled to free himself as the colonel twisted the knife. His bloodthirsty grin sent a cold shock of horror through Daniel, who watched helplessly as his assailant savored the anguish he inflicted. There was so much confusion around them that no one took notice of the deed. When Daniel was just at death’s door, the colonel dropped him to the ground, and his body joined the sea of corpses lying in that cornfield. Daniel gasped one last time before succumbing to the darkness.

  Duff fought closer to the tree line and was unaware of his friend’s demise. He was rallying the troops for another surge when two bullets shredded through his right shoulder. He was thrown to the ground, as if tackled, and the blow to his head by the hard earth knocked him unconscious. The fighting continued, and even as more officers fell, the boys continued to charge to their deaths without having to be told. By the battle’s end, the bodies of the wounded and the dead left no span of ground uncovered.

  3

  CALM BEFORE THE STORM

  Jonathan walked along the road. Another school day had ended and it was time to return home. The weather had become considerably colder than the previous week, and he thrust his hands tightly into the pockets of his jacket, trying to keep it wrapped around him. He looked up an
d saw the postman turn to walk toward his house.

  “Hey!” he called out as he rushed the older man. “Is that the mail?”

  “Why, yes. I was about to deliver it to your mother.”

  “I’ll take it in,” Jonathan said eagerly.

  “Here you go.” The postman handed over the letters, and Jonathan rifled through them immediately. There was a letter from Daniel addressed to him, and he ripped it open, letting the other mail drop to the ground. His face brightened as he read through the brief note, then carefully folded it before scooping up the others and running to the house. Jonathan blew through the front door, letting it crash shut behind him. Mother winced at the sound.

  “Jonathan!” she called out. “That door’s going to fall off its hinges one day!” She was in the kitchen when Jonathan came around the corner out of breath, his cheeks pink from the cold fall air.

  He handed over the letters but hid Daniel’s from her view. “I can be quick about my chores if you have something more for me to do,” he said. He grabbed the teapot from her hand and placed it on the stove.

  “Aren’t you the eager one today?” his mother replied as she rifled through the letters, not unlike Jonathan only moments earlier. “Come see me when you’ve finished your chores.”

  “OK.” He rushed off to his room to change his clothes, then down to the woodpile. It was time to stock the house again. He checked on the mare, cleaned out her stall, and then left her with plenty of food and water. He was raking the front yard when Beth called him in to eat. He showed up at the table with his hair combed, his shirt neatly tucked in and his face and hands washed clean.

  His mother and Beth glanced back and forth at Jonathan and then at each other in utter amazement.

  “Did you make a new friend at school today?” his mother asked cautiously.

  “No,” Jonathan answered as he reached for the potatoes. She shrugged her shoulders as she looked at Beth for help.

  “Was there a particularly exciting lesson today?” she tried again. “No,” he answered as he reached for the biscuits and then the corn.