The Night

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Sergeant Adams had looked everywhere, but he couldn't find Major Johnson. Though the Rebs had fallen back and the farm was again in Union hands, the casualties had been heavy. 

They'd gone into the latest attack with two hundred and twenty seven men, he had taken the roll as acting sergeant major, he knew the numbers. He was still waiting for the bill for the latest attack.

He'd gone in with A Company, the twenty six he'd advanced with were now but a mere handful. He wasn't sure, but if there were still a dozen men of A Company still on their feet, he would be amazed.

"Sarge?"

Adams looked up, it was Corporal Williamson, one of the few NCOs still alive.

"What is it, Buck?"

"I've been around to the companies, I went ahead and did that while you looked for the major. I've got the butcher's bill."

"How many men are left?"

"Seventy five, a couple of them are wounded but can still fight."

"Damn. Has anyone seen Major Johnson?"

"Yes ..."

"Well?"

"Couple men from C Company found him in front of the farmhouse, Surgeon looked at him, not long, he won't last the night."

"Thanks, Buck. Where is he?"

"Barn, probably outside, the ones the doc can save are inside. Everyone else ..."

"Okay."

The first thing Ducheine noticed was the crickets chirping. He found that odd, why would he hear crickets if he was dead? He tried to shift himself and a hot searing pain ripped through his abdomen. A gasp escaped from his lips as he tried to overcome the pain.

He heard voices, where was he?

Then it came back, the big Irishman in the blue uniform, the hot pain of the bayonet. As he'd gone down he remembered the pain most of all, but he remembered the hatred in the man's voice. The man who had killed him.

But he sensed that he was still alive, though barely.

Weakly, he cried out, "Help me ..."

"Hey Bobby, got a live one over here. Can't be sure but ..."

Bobby Simpson moved over to where his friend Earl Smalls had called from, damn but it was dark. It was almost as if the lantern itself refused to shine in this hellish place.

"Shine that light over here, Bobby."

Simpson did so. On the ground, his eyes shining feverishly in the lantern light, was a badly wounded Confederate officer.

Smalls grunted, "Feckin' Reb, leave him. He's done for anyway."

Simpson paused, looking at the man, he knelt down.

"Yer hit bad, Cap'n, don't move so much, yer just hurting yersel'."

Ducheine groaned, "I know I'm dying lad, but I have ..."

"Come on, Bobby, leave the bastard. He's done for plenty of our boys, I'm sure. Now it's his turn to suffer and die. Let him, or help him along, we're wasting time. He'll be in Hell soon enough."

Simpson saw the man reaching into his jacket, without a thought, Simpson grabbed the man's wrist.

"Not so fast, pal."

Ducheine understood, he was going fast, there wasn't much time.

"There are letters in my pocket, inside my jacket. One's to my wife, one's to a family in Minnesota."

Simpson reached into the man's jacket, sure enough, there were papers in there. He drew them out. By the dim light of the lantern he looked at them, yup, two letters. One to an address in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the other to an address in St. Cloud, in Minnesota.

"Who do you know in Minnesota, Cap'n?"

"I don't ... during one of the times we took the farm, there was a lieutenant, young fellow, dying ... He asked me to mail that one. I told him I would ... I promised ..."

"Cap'n?" He brought the lantern closer to the man's face.

"What the f**k, Bobby, what are you dawdling for?"

Simpson could see that the man was gone, his eyes were going dull, his spirit had fled.

"Nothing, Earl. This fellow's dead. Let's move on."

Adams went into the barn, it was like walking into Hell itself. Wounded were on the ground and on a couple of makeshift tables set up near the middle of the place. He bumped into an orderly headed for the entrance, the man was carrying a severed leg.

"Dear Jesus ..."

"Unless you're wounded, Sergeant, get the hell out of here!"

Adams looked at the surgeon, he was wearing a blood-soaked apron and had blood up to his elbows.  He was holding a saw, he took a drink from a silver flask then looked at Adams again.

"Major Johnson?"

"He's outside with the dead, now git!"

Adams headed outside, the orderly he'd bumped into was coming in.

"Your Major is outside, Sarge, to the left of the door as you exit. He's still alive, but that ain't gonna last."

"Uh, thanks."

Leaving the barn, he looked to his left, there was a row of bodies, most of them not moving. One of them was, he saw it was Johnson.

Rushing to him, he knelt down, "Major?"

Johnson stirred, he grinned. "Frank, you're still alive, saints be praised."

"Easy, Sir, I'll go get the surgeon, this ain't right ..."

"Don't, Frank, I'm not long for this world. The pain stopped a while ago, now I'm just cold."

Adams shook his head, it was one of the hottest nights he could ever remember.

"Come on, Sir, don't give up." Adams pleaded.

"It's my punishment, Frank. For killing Walker."

"Sir, that bastard deserved it, ain't no punishment for ..."

Johnson reached out and gripped Adams' jacket collar with surprising strength, "Yes, it is punishment. I had no right to shoot him, even though he might have been trying to shoot me. The man was scared, that's all ..."

"Hell, Sir, we're all scared, but most of us don't run. Walker did."

"I know, Frank, I know. Still and all, I feel pretty bad about it. You don't have your blanket with you, do you?"

Adams took his jacket off and covered the Major with it, "How's that, Sir?"

"Ephraim."

Adams looked around in confusion, "Sir?"

"It's my name, Frank, surely you knew that?"

"No Sir, I did not."

"Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, soon ..."

"Sir?"

Adams sighed, Major Johnson had died with the death of Corporal Walker on his conscience, that was bad. Though Adams wasn't a religious man, he did ask God, or whoever might be out there, if there was indeed anyone, to forgive the Major. He had been a good man, took care of his troops.

Adams stood up and took his kepi off, looking down at the man he'd followed into battle, he paused. Then he looked around, what sort of deity would permit this carnage? He didn't know but for now, he had to look to what was left of the regiment.

What was left of it.