This one, though moaned.
Instantly, Francois fell to his knees, ignoring the pain, and worked to uncover the soldier.
“Wiggins?” Astounded to find his fellow Tiger, Francois fumbled for his canteen, uncorked it and gave it to him for a sip.
Wiggins took a swig, a grateful look in his eye. “That explosion just blew me away, as if I could fly.” He snorted but halfway though, started to cough. Francois was horrified. Blood stained Wiggins lips and it was then, Francois saw the bloodstained teeth.
“We gotta get you out of here,” he said with more determination. “Come on.” He stood with his make shift cane but his buddy didn’t move.
“No, no,” Wiggins said, shaking his head. “I can’t move.”
“I’ll get you a cane as well,” he offered, giving the trees a look, searching until Wiggins grabbed his arm.
“Won’t be no good.”
Francois stared at him. Wiggins, looking pale even under the sunburn he’d gotten over the last couple of days, leaned back and pull his bloodstained and torn shirt apart. His abdomen had a blacken bullet hole that had ripped through Wiggins’ clothing and skin to bury itself. Francois’s heart dropped. Gut shots were death.
“I can’t leave you here,” Francois stated and then he whistled, hoping his horse would hear. Where was that steed anyway?
Wiggins laughed, but it was a short, gurgling sound. “You’d just be taking a body. I don’t have long.” He swallowed but the blood from the laugh coated his chin. “Gotta letter to the missus in my haversack. Will you get it her? Tell her I love her and will see her again.”
The mare trotted up, surprising Francois, more so since he was staring agape at his friend. She nudged him so he took the reins, leaning on his makeshift cane and her to stand.
“You’re going to be telling her that yourself,” Francois snapped, bending down, still leaning on the cane while trying to help Wiggins up.
Wiggins moaned, though he tried to rise. All around them, the air grew hotter. Francois was soaked in sweat. The more crackling, only this time, it was closer. Peering over his friend’s head, Francois saw the fire getting nearing them. Another scream filled the air along with the crying tones of others unable to move out of its path. It was that pending doom that drove him faster. He threw his cane down and devoted all his strength to Wiggins, though the man was sluggish and felt more like a sack of grain than an able to live man.
“Come on! We got to move!” he urged him as Rose danced on her hooves, the impending fire spooking her.
In that second, Wiggins’s eyes rolled back into his head as he slammed to the earth floor. Near his body was his revolver and only a few feet away, a Yankee soldier dead. Francois figured they’d both killed each other. The desire to yell, to curse at the war, overwhelmed him, but for what purpose? His friend was dead. Inwardly, he laughed. Wiggins died an honorable death, according to men like his father Pierre Fontaine, so his family should be proud. It made Francois want to retch. A dead son and husband did little good now…
Determined not to leave him on this field to burn, Francois dragged his friend closer to the horse, still holding on to the cane but in the end, dumping it to move Wiggins. Damn, the man was heavy! But the horse would have none of it. The flames roared behind him, Francois knew that, because the heat had him drenched in sweat and carrying another. But he was so close and she’d settled for a moment though he could see her head still high and eyes wide with fear. If he could only get that last step…
But it never came. He tripped. The weight of Wiggins now limp form and a vine or something in the leaves beneath them, caught his toe. He stumbled, bringing his friend down with him to the earth, Francois hitting a stump before he hit the ground. Dazed, his vision scrambled, he saw the faint form of Rose jumping back, tossing her head in the air as she darted away from the flames. He should go with her, but a slow blackness started to grasp hold on him, and his last thought was an image of Ada, the woman who had tugged his heart. She was also the woman who would shun him in a heartbeat. It was quite a problem, though apparently, one he’d never know how to solve.
The air was thick and hot. Even though she could hear the distant gunfire and artillery blasts, her biggest opponent was the embers of the encroaching fire that darted across the sky. Her woolen gown would protect her, as the fabric was too dense and the sparks would suffocate but true flames wouldn’t. When her heart skipped a beat as fear wrapped down her spine, she shook her head and concentrated anew on her task.
So far, she’d seen a handful of wounded, mostly dead. One with severe damage to his body, covered in blood, all she could do was hold his hand as he cried out for his mother and, in his delusional thinking, thought she was that woman. It was a pretense that didn’t last long. Once thinking he was with his mother, he gave her a brief
