War Torn Hearts - Chapter Three

CHAPTER three
April 6th 1862 - Hardin County, TN

It took Captain Harbinger’s group a good few hours to get the medical camp set up in the tents that were to be the hospital, the other officers allowing them to use the space so long as they tried to keep it in one piece. He had told the men they couldn’t promise anything but they would do their best and this seemed to be enough. Since then, the small medical team had cleared the articles that they wouldn’t be able to use to the outside, leaving mostly a bed and a cabinet to store their bandages and drugs. By midnight on the fifth of April, the captain and his men had the best set up they could get with the materials and then lay down to sleep.

Being the first person awake on that day though, up before the sun had even started to peek up from the horizon, made the young man the first person to really get his mind around what was supposed to be happening that day. While the others, including his faithful lieutenant and the lieutenant’s private friend, still continued to dream their pleasant dreams, the surgeon’s blue eyes saw the chaos that would be coming should the battle begin this day. He saw the blood and gore that would stain the walls and floors of the tent he was to use and heard the screams of agony that would echo off into his ears with each man that was going to be brought in. It was probably a good thing he had a strong stomach with which to face such gory sights or else he might have died a long while ago of dehydration. A cool breeze from outside the tent swept in through it’s flaps, making him shiver as it seemed to whisper to him of the defeat they were going to face.

What was he kidding, really, when he thought about it? The army he was a part of was made up of children, anyone could see that, children who had never really experienced war, who would probably be sick the first time they saw a dead body. What chance did those soldiers have against real veterans from the south, who had already slaughtered so many of his fellow northerners? He took a deep breath a steeled himself against the bloodbath he could almost sense was on its way.

At the opposite end of what was to be the battlefield, about the same time as Captain Harbinger was up and sitting on the steps of the alter, Major Daniels was also wake, keeping an eye out ahead of his army’s picket lines and watching for any blue-coat scouts that may have seen them even this far away. His grey uniform was immaculate as always and his horse, a grey mare he named Julia, couldn’t have looked more beautiful in his opinion. She was a tall animal, but not too tall, with a strong body and somehow knew when to keep quiet and when it was alright to make noise. At the moment, she was nibbling on some grass she had found while her rider gazed out across the field, hoping to make the most out of the time she wasn’t moving.

Behind the picket line, ever so quietly, the major’s infantry was slowly but surely rousing themselves, preparing for the fight ahead. Those that knew how cleaned their bayonets without setting them off and those who didn’t offered to cook a breakfast for those who did while the darkness still covered the smoke that rose. No one spoke to each other loudly, only the odd whisper could be heard, but the major paid them no heed as he just watched the enemy slumber peacefully in their tents. The orders he had in his pocket, brought with him from Mississippi, were hopefully the right ones this time. He would not lead his men into another pointless slaughter under any circumstance.

Pulling his orders out of his pocket and looking them over by the soft firelight of the campfires behind him, he frowned, checking his golden pocket watch that he kept in the breast pocket of his grey coat. It was almost time and his captains were just now gathering their men together after letting them eat a small, small meal for breakfast, and getting them into formation. The lieutenants from all the regiments under his command came up, requesting orders, which he gave them in a low whisper. The first part of the plan was to let the artillery let it rip, startling the blue coats out of their sleep, then he would get his infantry to charge and take down those that the cannon’s couldn’t get. He pulled a pistol from his pocket while the rest of his men lined up and grinned almost evilly. It was time.

The sudden sound of whistling far too loud to be human startled the surgeon from his thoughts and he ran amongst the tents where his peers and other soldiers were sleeping, shouting their names just as an explosion rocked the nearby front lines. His heart clenched as he knew that that blast wiped out at least ten men and probably injured well over twenty more. “Get up already! The battle’s started!”

Lieutenant Edwards, while his name had been shouted, barely stirred until he heard the explosions and jumped, startled from his sound sleep into hyper alertness. He had slept in his uniform with the exception of the jacket, kepi and boots, but he was quick to slip those on accessories on while the others struggled a bit more with becoming fully awake and ready. With his ears ringing, the normal jokester lost all sense of humor, his assistant surgeon’s personality taking it’s place as he hurried to gather Damon’s surgical equipment from where it was under the bed, setting it up quickly on the nearby desk. The other assistants were only a couple of steps behind him in their own tents and their surgeons, although still half-asleep, got ready for their day. He got back to the captain not a moment too soon.

The youngest men, the privates and sergeants that were supposedly on ambulance duty, barely managed to get out of the smaller tents they were using before they came right back to the surgeon‘s tents, supporting the mangled and blood soaked bodies of soldiers who were whimpering or crying out in pain. Some only had to be carried into the tents, the pain having already left them unconscious, while others were screaming bloody murder as they were dragged in, arms and legs shattered or pumped full of shrapnel. Others came in with entire limbs missing, just simply in shock. The highest ranked sergeant started to direct the less seriously injured to the smaller tents and the better prepared surgeons started shouting, telling the lower ranks to get the most seriously injured on the beds in their tents. Captain Harbinger almost felt sick as the vision he had seen before came closer to fruition.

However, he also knew that now was not the time for such things. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, just as Lieutenant Edwards called for a soldier who had a leg that had so many pieces of shrapnel in it, to be brought over. He brunet stared at his superior, who was standing unnaturally still in the center of the tent and breathing deeply, as if concentrating. “Captain?” he said, reaching out and shaking the other’s shoulder. “You alright?”

When those blue eyes opened again, the kindness and just plain compassion that Captain Harbinger was known for were gone, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. Any nervousness was gone but at the same time so were any emotions. The surgeon’s very humanity seemed to have left him.

As the patient was brought to the bed that awaited him, the surgeon and his cleaned instruments ready, Edwards took a handkerchief, slightly bloodied from the last bout of surgeries and doused one side of it in chloroform. There was no other way to knock out the patient for the surgery that was required -well in this case it was an amputation- and make this as painless for the soldier as possible. The poor man who he was about to use this chemical on, a corporal of about thirty from the looks of it, was practically begging for the drug. The assistant surgeon sighed and looked up to his superior who nodded. Applying the cloth, he waited for it to take effect while Damon decided on which scalpel to use first.

On the battlefield, still a top his horse but his clothing stained with the blood of his own men and much more of the enemy’s, Major Jason Daniels, couldn’t help but smile as yank after yank fell to his well aimed bullets, never to get up again. Oh sure he was being fired upon at the same time but that meant nothing since the men firing obviously couldn’t hit the right side of a barn. He would return the fire with only half the effort they used and knocked them down easily.

As the numbers of the blue coats seemed to grow smaller and more and more of them retreated through the town of Shiloh, back to where the higher ups had ordered them to retreat to. He told his captains not to hold back and chase them down as far as they dare go. The men looked all too eager to fulfill this order and gathered their men to hurry off. As he passed by the former Union camp with it’s tent hospital, he called to the nearest captain to hold up. “They’re holing up their injured there,” he called and turned his horse, “help me finish them off and then you can go back to your healthy targets.”

In the camp, as the Confederates chased the still somewhat healthy soldiers north, Lieutenant Edwards started feeling nervous as he removed the chloroform cloth from the patient’s nose and mouth to avoid poisoning him while his surgeon used some silk sutures to sew the major arteries and veins together again to prevent too much blood loss. He didn’t seem to notice the enemy infantry fighting not far from where they were or mind the gunshots that littered the background as if a part of a sick lullaby. Screams filled their ears and the lieutenant cringed and closed his eyes, trying to force the sound from his mind, and the sight of the blood, so much blood, staining the floor of the ground, bed and walls was more than enough to keep him awake for weeks. He replaced the cloth to the man’s face as the doctor finished with his suturing and began to apply the bandages to the stump that remained of the patient’s poor leg and shuddered. How could that man sleep at night when he was so calm about the gore he was surrounded by?

But then, it seemed, things just went from bad to worse. As Captain Harbinger finished bandaging the leg a group of thirty Confederate soldiers stormed into the camp, firing their weapons at anyone wearing a blue coat and silencing their screams quickly. This made the surgeon look up, his eyes still emotionless and empty and with a low, cold voice, said “Eric, grab a Private get out of here. The woods should provide enough of a cover for you to get up to the majors up north. Let them know what’s happened here.”

“But sir…”

“No buts, lieutenant. Go!”

Eric Edwards frowned but got up, grabbing the nearest Private as he was ordered to roughly by the sleeve and ran, zipping between the tents as hundreds fell around them. The private did not ask questions but simply followed his superior, dodging bullets easily as the pair ran off north. The officer had to force back the tears he felt building up as he prayed with all his might that his best friend and captain would make it out alive.

As soon as his assistant surgeon was gone with a private just as asked, Damon moved away from the soldier who was still out of it as a bullet pierced the man and got up to run, barely making it to his feet before a bullet pierced him, ripping a hole in his shoulder so painful he fell immediately with a cry. His hand went to his wound but he did not move otherwise, watching as the group of Confederate soldiers that had finished with the other men left, leaving just one man, standing over him with a gun, to deal with him. That soldier, a major from the looks of it, had a grin on his face. “You’re in luck,” the man said, a slight accent to his words. “you’re the lucky yank I decided to keep alive. Get to your feet doc, you’re comin’ with me.”