“Get him inside immediately,” she ordered the soldier helping him and got a nod in return.
That made up her mind. Turning, she raced back in, grabbing a bag and shoving bandages and surgical tools inside.
“Nurse, I mean, Doc Lorrance.” Maybelle walked up her eyes wide open. “We got wounded.”
“Yes, I know. But Dr. Leonard has returned. Help is needed on the field. I’m going. He can help out as best he can here.” And without giving it another thought, she grabbed the bag and raced out the tent flap and into the war.
Chapter 35
“Richmond must not be given up. It shall not be given up.”
—Confederate General Robert E. Lee to Confederate President Jefferson Davis, Seven Days Battle, 1862
Will had said it was hell itself. It took no time at all for Ada to agree. The sun was setting, so she feared her time would be limited. She dove in and quickly found her first downed man. He was covered in dirt, sweat, blood and black soot. The moment she touched him, to roll him over to see the erupting wound, she recoiled. His skin was cold with death. Bile climbed up the back of her throat and she focused hard, swallowing it back down. He wasn’t the first dead man she’d seen, nor would he be the last.
“Joey, go that direction, and I’ll go this way. Let’s stay in sight of each other, just in case,” she suggested to the hospital steward. Joey Adams nodded and took his satchel of medicines down about twelve feet. She liked this steward. He had been in medical classes when the war broke, so what he did know allowed him the position of steward, not surgeon, but she figured after the war, he’d excel at medicine.
The ground was layered with the fallen. Some begged for water, and it didn’t take long for her canteen to be almost empty. The air was also littered with the sound of gunfire and cannons exploding. They were distant, allowing her to believe that Will’s fate wouldn’t happen to her, but the war itself was a bit distracting. The further she went, the fainter the sounds of war became. Unfortunately, the noise of the wounded rose, and she heard plea after plea for help.
An eerie glow cast the skies a brighter orange than the sun as it set but she plugged on, trying to help the few she could until she heard the crackling noise, like a fireplace. It stopped her in her tracks as she scanned the horizon. She was in an area with battered trees, a blanket of fallen leaves and mud and a minimal number of downed men, most of them long since lost to this world. She realized she couldn’t see Joey either, so she opened her mouth to call him when she heard that noise again, followed by a loud scream of severe pain.
Whipping her head around to the direction of the dying yell, the sound curdling down her spine she saw the bigger menace. Fire. Now, it all registered in her head. The crackling that she heard was fire and fear with its icy fingers, tried to wrap around her, but her inner soul, the one that drove her to medicine with the need to help others, stomped it down.
“Joey!!”
“Doc!” The reply she hoped to hear was closer than she thought.
“This way. There’s fire eating the wounded alive!”
Francois heard the noise. It was a snapping sound, a hiss even, like a snake and he frowned, wondering how the hell a snake could live in this hell. Then a masculine moan, one laced in pain also echoed around him and the two combinations made him struggle to open his eyes, fighting the cloak of darkness that lured him to stay.
All he saw when he opened his eyes were fallen timbers and layers of old leaves. He did catch the odd fluff that lightened the grungy color of earth with snippets of blue, gray and white puffs, no doubt shredded pieces of uniforms and remains of paper cartridges. Among the littered ground were other soldiers of gray. Most were stagnant and that disturbed him enough that he fought to move.
Pushing with his arms, he raised his head and shoulders, slowly pulling himself up to a sitting position. But as his butt came into contact with the ground, he had a stabbing pain from his injured foot race up his leg. With a groan of frustration when he tried to move it and the burning sensation remained, he tensed but refused to lie back down. He looked down over himself and didn’t find any injury outside the old one throbbing plus a few cuts and scrapes.
Trying to bury the pain, he switched his attention to the area around him, trying to rediscover where he was. The distant sounds and small tremors of cannon fire reminded him. The War. They were in the Wilderness. His senses came back in full. When he tried to rise, his ankle reminded him how that wasn’t a good idea, so he dragged himself over to the closest inert soldier near him.
Concealed in torn up earth and decaying leaves, the body in the heap didn’t move. His uniform was butternut, qualifying him for any number of units in the Confederate army. Francois nudged him.
“Get up, soldier,” he barked, giving the body a sudden shove and when the soldier rolled back, Francois wished he hadn’t. Half the man’s face was ripped off, the remains blackened from the gunpowder. “Rest in peace,” he murmured, crossing himself, adding a silent prayer as he moved on.
The next one was several
