Tear In Time (19 page)

  Nearly
five minutes after the first sound of cannon fire, standing outside the
farmhouse, David looked over his shoulder to the sound of fast moving horses.
Moments later, two Union officers rode up, their own small column of men in
trail. By the insignia on their hats, David could see right away that these
were the surgeons of Gen. Banks’ regiment, and of lower rank than he. With a
quick salute to David, the two second lieutenants asked for Dr. Morgan. David
pointed to the farmhouse, whereupon the two officers immediately ran inside.

 
Standing alone in front of the farmhouse, staring off into the distance as he
watched the smoke from the battle rising high above the treetops, David felt
the hopelessness and isolation of his displaced life. The future that held such
dreams of promise was now a vision of surreal hardship and anxiety. With each
report of the deafening artillery, the memory of 2005 abruptly slipped further
away.

  The
sound of horse and wagon snapped David out of his saddened state, as the
privates began delivering the much-needed wood to begin the sterilization of
medical equipment. In the short time since their arrival, the hard-working
soldiers had foraged for and found an abundance of dry wood just beyond the
tree line.

  “Sir,
where do you want the fire?” Pvt. Dawson asked, occasionally flinching at the
sound of the distance explosions.

  “Over
there, near the front porch. We need a good sized fire,” David instructed.
“Could you do me a favor?” David asked rhetorically. “It would be a big help to
me if you could keep a pot of water boiling for the next couple of days. Do you
think you can do that for me while I’m operating?”

  “Yes
sir,” Pvt. Dawson answered, looking strangely at his fellow soldiers.

  David
read the responses on the faces of the other privates. For a moment he felt
embarrassed by them, as if he were the butt of their private joke, but then he
realized that their facial expressions were more of surprise and gratitude than
condescension. He hadn’t thought of it before, but he was now an officer and
would be counted on to lead. It dawned on him that officers give orders and he
had made a request. That simple exchange was regarded as unusual and
considerate treatment, and instantly gained him the loyalty of the soldiers
beneath him. As he walked toward the farmhouse, he etched the lesson into his
memory as a model for future command.

--- --- ---
--- ---

  Gen.
Negley stood in his stirrups and squinted through his field glasses at the
approaching enemy. Watching from an elevated bluff, he had a good command of
the battlefield. Rectangular in layout, the Union soldiers occupied the tree
line to the east. Far on the western edge, the Confederates began their march
from Cedar Mountain as they headed east to engage their foe. To the north and
south, a meandering line of trees formed the upper and lower boundaries of the
field.

 
Bringing his attention closer to the foreground, the general focused on his
troops as they marched shoulder to shoulder across the field. He watched with
satisfaction as his men bravely marched into the onslaught of whistling lead
that sailed all around them. They discharged their weapons, reloaded with black
powder and mini-ball, then discharged them again, always moving forward, always
in disregard for their mortality.

 
Looking still closer, he could see many wounded soldiers as they lay in agony,
left behind as their marching comrades forged ahead. Too far away to be heard
over the roar of battle, he could see anguish contort their faces as they
writhed in torment from their ghastly wounds. His deepest sympathy could be
seen as he swallowed hard to suppress the knot in his throat. With small
relief, he watched as stretcher bearers placed their lives in the line of fire
for the sake of their fallen brothers, as they began to extract the wounded
from the battlefield.

 
Subconsciously, Gen. Negley began to feel the tug of guilt and shame as he
viewed his men fighting for their lives while he watched from the safety of the
tree line. Understanding his importance as the commanding officer, he fought to
resist any impulse to ride down and join them in battle, an action reserved
only for the gravest of strife and struggle.

  Gen.
Negley scanned his field glasses across the northern plain and observed his
fellow commanders engaged in the same function as he. With their own field
glasses in hand, they too directed the battle from their elevated positions.
Gen. Negley momentarily watched the exaggerations in body language as they
hurried their couriers to deliver their battlefield orders to their
subordinates. Usually on foot and occasionally by horse, the couriers received
their verbal orders and quickly dashed off to deliver them to the next in
command.

 
Turning back to the troops under his command, he noticed his left flank began
to thin and waver as the front line atrophied due to the fallen men. He scanned
the regiment of soldiers held in reserve behind him. Sighting Col. Theron
McMasters, he immediately sent his courier to deliver orders.

 
“Private, tell Col. McMasters to send down a company of men to strengthen that
left flank,” Gen. Negley ordered.

  “Yes
sir,” Pvt. Roberts replied, as he ran off to fulfill his duty.

  Within
minutes, a hundred men charged the battlefield, led by Lt. Parson as they
dodged the stray bullets that missed the targets ahead of them. Moments later,
as he watched through his field glasses, Gen. Negley observed his left flank
surge forward as the added strength of men incited and inspired the front line.
The greater numbers overpowered the now weaker Confederate right flank, and
pushed them back further in retreat. At that early stage of battle, the Union
army seemed to be directing control of the battlefield and inflicting horrific
losses upon the enemy. For Johnny Reb, only a miracle could turn the tide of
success.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  With
the farmhouse nearly prepped and ready for surgery, David instructed the
privates under him in proper hand-washing and sterilization of instruments as
they waited for the wounded to arrive. His instruction was abruptly interrupted
as they heard the sound of a fast-approaching wagon. Hurrying to a window, he
could see the driver of the four-wheeled ambulance keeping a tight grip on the
reins, while the three men that lay in back held on through desperate pain.

  Dr.
Morgan came up beside David and quickly peered through the window. He placed
his hand on David’s shoulder and replied, “Ok, lad, this is our time. We won’t
find a moments rest until we are finished. Is there anything you need?”

 
“Antibiotics?” David asked in jest.

  “Hmm,
quite right, lad, quite right,” Dr. Morgan replied, understanding the modern
inference.

 
“Actually, I’ve been giving our lack of medical supplies some consideration. I
really don’t think using the alcohol sparingly in order to make it last is our
wisest course. I think it will do some good, but the vast majority will still
have serious complications from infection. No, I’m thinking that to be the most
effective, we will need to use it heavily until we run out, then accept the
consequences in the patients that are treated without the use of alcohol. I’m
guessing the overall cure rate will be higher,” David informed.

  “Hmm,
I see your logic, and it makes sense. The reality is the wounded are still receiving
better treatment with the advanced medical techniques you’ve taught me, even
without the proper disinfectant. On the whole, I believe they are still better
off,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “One
can only hope,” David replied.

  Just
then the stretcher bearer brought in the first of the three wounded men and
quickly placed him on the makeshift operating table in the center of the main
room. Joined by the other two regimental doctors, Dr. Morris Rogers and Dr.
Jonas Weiss, the four examined the young private.  With a large bullet
wound to the abdomen, the young man’s hopes for survival were slim. 
Bravely, he ground his teeth as he tried to tolerate the pain, while slowly
slipping in and out of consciousness. His moans of agony were low and nearly
undetectable as Dr. Morgan and David conferred on the diagnosis, while the
other two doctors, both second lieutenants and of lower rank, watched and
listened to David as he quickly announced his findings.

  “This
boy is already in the latter stages of shock and his wound appears to have
penetrated the colon, I’m afraid. A wound like this is difficult to repair,
even in the best of conditions. I can smell the fecal matter from here,” David
announced, looking between the three doctors. “Even if I can clean all that
bacteria out of the abdominal cavity and resection the colon, not to mention
repair any other damaged organs, I’m afraid in his physiological state he won’t
survive the surgery.”

  “Hmm.
I hate to be so callous, but maybe we should reserve our resources for those
that will survive,” Dr. Morgan offered as a suggestion.

  “Sirs,
you aren’t actually considering fussing with this man’s internals, are you? You
might as well remove his heart while you are in there, for all the good it will
do him,” Dr. Rogers stated in disbelief. Tall and trim, Dr. Rogers had a look
of confidence as he made his case. “Isn’t it customary to set aside the
abdominals and work the extremities first, as they have the greatest chance for
survival?” he asked, using protocol for a defense.

  “Lad,
you will see some extraordinary medicine practiced here today. You are correct
in reciting your protocols, but Dr. Warner here has experience in medicine
beyond the limits of those protocols. I beg you to observe his skills and
adjust your line of logic in order to gain benefit from his knowledge,” Dr.
Morgan said, using rank and diplomacy to change the second lieutenant’s line of
thinking.

 
Understanding his station among the four officers, Dr. Rogers replied with a
simple, “Yes sir.”

  “Doc,
I’m afraid you are correct in your analysis. Our supplies are limited, and he
just slipped back into unconsciousness again. There’s nothing I can do for
him,” David said sadly.

 
Moments later, the two stretcher bearers brought in the next patient, Pvt.
Mitchell. Removing the previous soldier from the table, Pvt. Mitchell took his
place with a painful and worried expression spread across his face. He suffered
from a wound to the leg. Once again the four doctors examined his wound: a
bullet hole to the thigh. Although the wound was extensive, no bones had been
impacted.

  “I can
have that leg off and bandaged in about ten minutes,” Dr. Rogers announced
proudly.

  “I’m
sure it can be done quickly, but I believe the region would require a bit more
time due to the nature of its location,” Dr. Weiss added.

  “What
is your analysis of the wound, David?” Dr. Morgan asked, hiding his
anticipation of the answer.

  “Well,
I’m quite certain I can repair his leg in about half an hour without the need
for amputation, although with the amount of trauma I see, I’m afraid he will
probably have a severe limp when he recovers,” David answered.

  “No
amputation!?” Dr. Weiss exclaimed in doubt. “Sir, this man most certainly will
require amputation. The extent of his injury is too great to consider anything
else. I fear anything short of that will result in gangrene before the day’s
end. We must amputate at once,” he said, exaggerating to emphasize his point.

  Before
David could respond, Dr. Morgan spoke, “Nonsense, lad. I have been witness to
Dr. Warner’s surgical skills for some time now. He is a brilliant surgeon. If
he claims he can heal this man’s wound, we must trust his word,” Dr. Morgan
stated proudly. Continuing, he added, “Now, lads, while I operate on the other
wounded man, I want you two to observe Dr. Warner. In particular, I want you to
pay special attention to his care in cleanliness. If I’m not mistaken, I’m sure
he will explain the details as he works,” he finished, now giving an
all-knowing smile to David.

 
“Doctor, are you going save my leg?” Pvt. Mitchell asked nervously.

 
“What’s your name, private?” David asked with genuine interest

  “I’m
Jackson Mitchell, sir, but everyone calls me Rat,” Pvt. Mitchell replied.