The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (9 page)

For over an hour, blistering crossfire between the forces piled heaps of men, clad in blue or gray, across the fields and woods.  Unable to move forward or backward, those who were wounded buried their faces in the dust and prayed for the fighting to end.

And then it happened
…

Brushfires, kindled by bullets striking the breastworks soldiers had mounded for protection, erupted on all sides, filling the air with the unmistakable, sickening stench of burning flesh.  Ominous, muffled popping sounds marked the explosion of dozens of cartridge belts tied around wounded soldiers’ waists, sending deadly shards of tin slicing through their bowels.

“My God,” one of Robert’s men muttered.  “Those poor devils.”

Robert stared, knowing God must surely be weeping now.  The firing stopped on both sides as soldiers stared at the horror and listened to the shrieks of burning men.  Then the firing started again, but this time it was sporadic.

“What is…?”

Robert shook his head heavily.  “They’re committing suicide,” he muttered.  “They would rather die by their own hands than be burned to death.”

Matthew and Peter, safe behind the lines, could only hear what sounded like an incessant peal of thunder, and they could see massive clouds of smoke lying thick above the ground.  Matthew already knew what the scene would look like when it finally ended.

His face grew grim as he watched General Grant nervously whittling pieces of wood into formless shavings.  That was his only portrayal of emotion.

“Will he call them back?” Peter asked.

“He can’t,” Matthew stated simply, answering Peter’s questioning stare.  “He had all but one of the bridges across the Rapidan torn down after the troops crossed them.  There will be no turning back.” 

Carrie, as well as all of Richmond, had heard the sounds of battle all day, had seen the heavy smoke filling the horizon.  She had spent the day in endless prayers while she worked at the hospital, and now she expected the wounded would begin to arrive that night.

She and Janie had just arrived home themselves, nighttime finally silencing the battle, when her father strode through the door. 

Everyone in the parlor ceased talking, waiting to hear what he would say.  Thomas stood just inside the hallway and stared at all of them, weariness creasing his face with even deeper lines. 

“Lee sent a telegram.  He reported the enemy crossed the Rapidan yesterday.  A strong attack was made upon Ewell, who repulsed it.  The enemy subsequently concentrated upon General Hill, who resisted repeated and desperate assaults.”  Thomas took a deep breath.  “Lee ended the telegram by saying that by the blessing of God we maintained our position.”

Carrie listened numbly, kissed her father on the cheek, then turned, and climbed the stairs to snatch a few hours of sleep before the ambulance wagons started to roll in.  She knew it was too soon for a list of wounded and dead.  She had no idea whether she was still a wife or whether she had just become a widow; what she did know was she would be needed as soon as dawn announced a new day.

Janie followed closely behind her.  Neither said a word as they got ready for bed.  They walked to the window, stared north, and then clutched each other in an embrace that said far more than words possibly could. 

Then they both fell into bed.  The battle had come. 

Their work would begin in the morning.

Moses stared into the cold ashes of the fire, too tired and beaten to stir them into fresh flame.  All around him his men lay silently, exhaustion engraved on every face, eyes numb with horror.  More than half of them had not returned from the day’s battle.  Eighty men who had laughed and joked that morning would not see another sunrise.

Moses shifted and gazed up at the sky, or at least what would have been the sky if it hadn’t been obliterated by smoke.  He had already received orders that his men were to march out again at four-thirty in the morning.  He knew that was only a few hours away.  He should be sleeping but every time he closed his eyes the nightmare of the day would begin to play.  It was far easier to stay awake and wait for whatever came next.

Pompey…

Moses sighed heavily.  He would miss every man he had lost, but Pompey had held a special place in his heart.  He would miss his steady friendship and wisdom so much.

Moses closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered as the smell of burning flesh haunted his mind.  His eyes sprang open, and his breath came in gasps as fear swallowed him. 

“I can’t do it, God,” he whispered.  “I just can’t do it.”  The very idea of leading his men back into battle, if that’s what anyone could call the slaughter in the cornfield, was more than he could bear.  Tears filled his eyes and his broad shoulders shook silently. He was grateful for the dark that embraced him, the silence that swallowed his bitterness and pain.

As he wept, his mind traveled back to Old Sarah, Rose’s mama.  He could see her clearly and hear her voice just as though she was still alive. 
“Give God dat anger and pain, Moses.  Ain’t nobody but him be able to take it.  Keep it locked up inside and it gonna eat you alive.  Let it go, boy.  Let it go…”
  He could almost feel her hand stroking his head. 
“Let it go, Moses…”

He wasn’t sure how long he cried, but he was well aware when peace replaced fear and horror.  Tomorrow would come.  Whatever it would bring, he was not alone.

Moses rolled over and slept.

Chapter Five

Carrie and Janie could already hear the sounds of battle when they reached the top of Chimborazo Hill at six o’clock.  Heavy smoke, pushed by southerly winds, still hung over the city from the day before.  It would get worse before the day was over.

They had received word that the first wave of ambulance wagons was en route.  Dr. Wild and Matron Pember stood side-by-side outside one of the hospital wards.  They merely nodded when Carrie and Janie moved over to stand beside them.

Matron Pember was the first to break the heavy silence.  “It’s too soon for official numbers, but…”

“It’s bad.” Janie finished, her voice hard and flat.

“It’s bad,” Dr. Wild agreed.  He took a deep breath.  “We’re ready for them.”

Carrie fought to control her trembling - fought to control her desire to scream out that she would never be ready for a fresh flow of wagons full of mutilated boys and men who would never live the lives they had dreamed of before this horrible war.  She clenched her fists as she thought of the new mountain of amputated arms and legs that would grow in the stifling heat, attracting swarms of flies to feed upon the flesh and maggots.  She struggled to control the fear that one of the wagons carried Robert, or worse, that he had been buried in a makeshift grave.

Janie reached over to take her hand, allowing Carrie to take a deep breath.  Actually, she would be glad when the first wagon appeared.  Only then would the nightmares, the wondering, and the questioning be swallowed by endless activity and duty.

A distant rumbling told her the wait was almost over. 

Matron Pember tried to distract them all.  “I finally got rid of the Robinson clan,” she announced with forced cheer.

Carrie and Janie looked at her blankly. 

Dr. Wild chuckled.  “I don’t think these two know the story.  Let me fill them in before you tell us how you accomplished the miracle.”  He turned to Carrie and Janie.  “There was a family that came down from the western Virginia hills to be with one of our patients:  his parents, wife, and two siblings.  Private Robinson was recovering from typhoid fever.”

“That was good of the family,” Janie offered.

“It would have been,” Dr. Wild agreed, “except that they refused to leave the ward.  They sat by his bed smoking pipes and getting in everyone’s way.

“What?!” Carrie exclaimed.

Dr. Wild nodded.  “They left only after Matron Pember ordered a nearby patient to change his underwear in their presence.”

Janie snorted with laughter.

“The family demanded food and lodging.   And even when the private returned to the battlefield, they refused to leave, saying he might get wounded and return.”

“That’s what happened a week later,” Matron Pember snapped, taking over the story.  “Imagine my surprise a few days later when I arrived at my ward to discover the private had given up his cot to his wife and newborn baby who had come the night before.”

Carrie stared at her in amazement. “She had a baby?”

“When one of our surgeons suggested the mother be moved to another ward and be fed tea and toast, she said she would rather stay right there and have bacon and greens.”

“Oh, my,” Janie murmured.

“They were quite content to let us feed the whole lot of them for as long as we were willing.  Last week I finally sent the family away with free rail tickets, food, and baby clothes made by Richmond women,” Matron Pember said.

“How wonderful for the family and baby,” Carrie said admiringly.

“Except that the woman left the baby behind,” Dr. Wild finished.

Both Carrie and Janie turned to stare at him with disbelief.  “She left her baby here?” Carrie choked out, not sure whether to laugh, not sure whether her
desire
to laugh indicated she was finally about to go over the edge.  A glance at Janie’s laughing eyes reassured her.  If she was losing grip on her sanity, at least she wasn’t the onlyone.

Matron Pember nodded grimly.  “I arranged to have Private Robinson sent home yesterday on furlough.  He took the baby with him.  I, for one, hope to never see
that
family again.”

Carrie allowed her laughter to come, grateful for anything that distracted her from the sight of the first ambulance wagons pulling up the hill.

Robert was growing more anxious by the moment.  Men were asleep all around him, their rifles stacked in rows.  They had been promised they were to be relieved by fresh troops before daylight.  None had appeared as of yet.  Though the sun hadn’t risen - was not even lighting the sky yet - everything in Robert told him something was about to happen.