Love? Or War? (Excerpt)

If the first BOOM is loud, the second is deafening.

The world is completely silent until I hear a faint ringing. It gets louder and louder and I cover my ears, but the ringing is not dampened in the slightest. Its volume increases still; my head is throbbing and it feels like my brain is going to combust. I reach for my head and curl up beside my discarded musket, but the ringing doesn’t stop for what seems like hours.

So I wait there.

I can’t think; I can barely remind myself to breathe.

Until finally, finally, the ringing begins to fade away. My migraine is the worst I’ve ever had, but still I wrack my injured brain for a possible source of such loud sounds…

I look up and I see men running towards me, weapons raised, and I can just barely hear their battle cry over the intense silence in my head. I spin around and I realize now what must’ve happened: the barricade has fallen. They’ve bombed it, and now they’re filtering through the wreckage. It is a menacing sea of angry, determined faces atop an indistinguishable mass of green fabric.

Well, shit.

I’ve no time to think anything else. I drop to the ground in search of my gun, running my hands through the tall, dead grass. The moment I lay my hands on it, I feel an intense warmth in my foot, one I’ve felt too many times before. I know I’ve been shot before I see the wound, and I know I can do nothing about it. I secure my musket in my hands and turn quickly on my knees, scanning the battlefield for my shooter. When I do not find an imminent threat, I jump to my feet and sprint into the woods, doing my best to ignore the growing ache in my foot.

Having been shot a good sixteen times, I’ve gotten quite used to the feeling of a bullet entering and exiting my body. The first time I was hit, the pain was much greater and affected me much more than it does now. It felt like I’d been stabbed in the shoulder with a hot nail, and then hit repeatedly with a bat. It was not a fun experience. Perhaps I’ve grown stronger since, or perhaps the foot is a less sensitive area, but now it feels like my foot has suffered only a bee sting.

That is, until my foot is caught on an exposed root and I find myself flat on the ground with a mouthful of dirt and dead leaves. I come to notice, however, as I rise to a sitting position and clutch my throbbing foot, that I did not trip on a tree root, but a human leg. For a reason that I can not devise, I reach my hand towards it. Before my hand makes contact, the rest of its body bursts out from under the layer of leaves laid over the forest floor. Its face, though smeared with mud, was slightly recognizable-

“Eddie? Oh thank god you’re here! I been out here for hours because I can’t really move and there weren’t no one around to gimme a hand. Damn, I must’ve fallen asleep after making my disguise! Genius, innit?”

“Joseph? Are you all right, there?” is all I say to the man on the ground, who happens to be a very good friend of mine, more a brother. He’s the only family I’ll have left after the war is over. Which is why I need to make sure he lives through it.

“Oh, I’m feeling quite fine, brother. I just got plugged a few in the back, y’know how it is.”

“Plugged? You were shot in the back?! You could be paralyzed! We have to get you to the doc’s tent, c'mon!” I grab him by the shoulders, disregarding my own wound completely. He groans in pain, but I lift him to his feet and lead him swiftly towards the medic’s tent. The location of which, I soon realize, I’m not quite sure of. I don’t even know which direction we’re heading in. North? East? Hold on, where is the sun..?

“Eddie? Edward!” the man in my arms raises his voice, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m fine. Go back to your station.” At my skeptical expression, he sighs. “I really am okay. I can walk, look!” he says, pushing away from me and hobbling slowly a few feet ahead of me.

“No. I’m taking you to the medic; we’re almost there,” I say, putting his arm around my shoulder once more.

“You don’t even know where the tent is! I can get there myself, and you’d be much more useful out there winning the battle for us,” he argues.

“But-”

“Pipe down, man.” Joseph interrupts, pushing me away once more. “You’re one of the best soldiers we’ve got, and you wasting your time on little ol’ me will certainly not help us win this battle.”

His argument is good enough, but the decision I must make is this: Do I care more for life of my best friend, or aiding in my country's victory over the south? I am completely sure that, however selfish, I’d choose the former. How much help would one more person be? In Joseph's case, a butt ton, but in the case of the battle, we’ve tens of thousands of soldiers fighting out there. I’d be merely one more man.

My mind made, I say nothing and lead Joseph along at a slightly quicker pace, to which he emits a sigh of either defeat or exasperation -perhaps a combination of the two- but he does not argue. I’ve won this round.

We walk only half a mile before we reach the medic’s tent. I drop him off in a rush, and I am promptly shoved out of the marquee by a nurse when she decides I am not majorly injured. I guess she didn’t notice my bloody footprints.

〜

By the time I’ve found my way back out to the chaotic mess that is the current battlefield, I can see that our original battle plans have gone to shit, and the only strategies I have to rely on are my own. I see a tie-dyed pattern of blue, green, and bloody red. The Blues are being overtaken by the Greens at an alarmingly fast rate, likely bearing less than half of the man power. From a quick analysis, I figure that we have but a very slight chance of pushing the Torts back enough to cause them to retreat- though this would likely be our best chance. I need to find Langdon, my fleet’s captain. He’ll have the orders from the general, if there are any.

After wasting a good fifteen minutes searching fruitlessly for Langdon, I give up and finally decide to ask one of the other soldiers. I grab the first coat of blue that I see and sharply turn its wearer round.

“Have you seen Captain Langdon?” I ask him, somewhat frantically, without looking at his face.

“What? What did you say?” he replies, bearing a shocked expression on his bruised face. “Stop fooling around, man.” He turns his back to me, shaking his head.

Fooling around? I’m just trying to do my job! I give him a much gentler tap on the shoulder, and he turns.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Would you happen to know what the general’s orders are? My fleet hadn’t planned for the barricade falling,” I try again, softening my tone and squaring my shoulders.

“No, I don’t know. No one from fleet eighteen has heard from the general for at least two days now. I sure hope he hasn’t met the same fate as that Captain Langdon…” the soldier continued on, but I couldn't hear him anymore. What happened to Langdon? I just heard from our captain this morning, didn’t I? Yes, he was briefing us on our battle plans again, reminding us that we were sure to win because of our great power in number over the Greens. I went up to him soon after, offered him a drink after we’d won the battle, hadn’t I? I just saw him, I could swear I-

“And my captain was just saying this morning, for the past few weeks without Langdon, we’ve become more and more disadvantaged to the Torts. Did you know they have about 8o,ooo men now? At least that’s what Captain Randall estimated. I’d say, from the looks of them, they’ve got around- hey! Where are you going?”

I keep walking, turning my back to the unnamed soldier who’d just blown a hole into my foundations, letting a flood of unwanted memories come rushing through. How had I forgotten? Langdon is dead. He died three weeks ago, during the battle at Runedale. He got shot in the back and he couldn't get to a nurse in time… no, no I couldn't get him to the nurse. I had him on my back, I was telling him that he’d be fine, I was running as fast as I could and he fell off- no, wait. I tripped. And he fell onto his back and he couldn't catch his breath. Yes, then I tried to perform CPR but it was too late and I-

“I killed him,” I think aloud. “It was my fault he died, I was too slow, too clumsy, too stupid; I killed him,” I say to myself, because I know that the only way to get over the truth is to accept it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard, I think, the ache in my head growing unbearable. I decide that I really can’t take it anymore, so I sit down where I am, not thinking about the danger I’m putting myself in, not caring. I pull my knees close and I grasp my throbbing head with my hands, attempting to keep it from crumbling to pieces.

I sit there for a while- at least I think so. I have no real concept of time at the moment. After some time though, my mind has drifted away from the depressing realization that I’ve come to, away from the grief and tears. By now, I believe I must have a concussion, or some other head injury that caused me short-term memory loss. I try to think back to this morning, try to remember anything that happened.

Nothing comes to mind but grotesque images of Langdon’s dead body, which are running through my brain at an incomprehensible speed, taking up the space for anything else to push through. I can’t help but picture his bloody face and chest, his heaving breaths, the way he coughed up litres of blood at a time. I remember his dyed-red hands, reaching out to grasp the last threads of life before they slipped away. I remember clasping those hands in mine, in just enough time to feel them go weak.

“Shit, man,” I tell myself. “If you go on like this, you won’t be able to see through your stupid tears.”

“You feelin’ okay, man?” My heart leaps and I spin around to face the unknown voice, raising my musket.

“Holy shit -- Eddie?

〜

We’re walking swiftly through the green wood, side by side, saying nothing. What should we say? What could we say?

“I’ve missed you, Ed,” the girl -- rather, the woman -- next to me says, looking straight ahead. She was my old friend from back before the war started. She’d lived next to me until we were twelve years old, when she moved down south. We’d been best friends, but after seven years, we’ve both changed, undoubtedly. We likely have nothing in common anymore. We can’t just pretend we’re family again, not now that we’re faced against each other in this war. She’s missed me. Of course she did, I was all she had. I’ve missed her too. But how do I say that?

“You’re so tall now,” she says with a weak laugh. “And what is this? You’ve got a beard as well?” she brings her hand to my face and brushes it lightly against the dark tufts of hair on my chin.

“Ah, well. I haven’t really had time to shave… y’know, with the war going on.” I look directly into her eyes, pointedly. Her stiff smile disappears. She only nods.

We continue on like that, in an uncomfortable silence that feels like a thick gray cloud floating above us, lowering between us with every minute that passes. I know I should say something, but what?

“Yes, uh, it’s been a- a while, most definitely,” I stammer out. “Uhm, how have you been, then? Down in Virginia?”

“My mother died in ‘98. I haven’t seen my father since we moved. My brother’s just gone off to college in France. It’s pretty lonely.”

“Oh, that’s horrible. Mrs. Wyatt was truly loved by everyone, wasn’t she? I remember back when your mother was named Most Pleasant Neighbor. Wasn’t it unanimous?”

“Yes, I remember. It was unanimous, of course.” Beth stares straight ahead of her, likely focused on the barrage of beautiful and sad memories which are most definitely running at great speeds through her mind. She certainly must be very lonely; I know what she’s going through.

I slow a bit, and take a place strolling behind her. Beth has really grown up since I last saw her, and for some reason, this fact makes me quite sad. She wears her hair short, down to the point of her chin, and sloppily styled. It’s the same black, murky color it’s always been. Her face has filled out into a healthy round shape with rosy cheeks and large lips. I remember the way she used to look, so skinny and bony, almost starved. We all must’ve looked that way back then. I notice she’s only a few inches shorter than me, now. We always used to compete with our heights. Since she got her growth spurt before I did, I was losing for a while there. But I grew six inches the summer she left.

“You know you’ve lost, right?” I can’t help but gloat.

“I’ve- what?” she turns swiftly round.

I chuckle. “You’ve lost, Beth. I must be at least three inches taller than you.”

She stares at me in surprise for a moment. Then she bursts out in the most glorious, joyful, chest-heaving laugh. I can’t help but grin and let out a low chuckle. She deserves to laugh after I caused that slew of tucked-away memories to resurface in her mind. I know I made her sad, so it’s now my responsibility to make her happy again.

“You- I!” She can’t manage to create a comprehensive thought, she’s laughing so hard.

After a few minutes, she calms down enough to say under her breath, “Yes, I have. I’ve missed you indeed, Eddie.”

“I have, too, Elizabeth.”

She must’ve thought I wouldn’t hear her because she looks up with an expression of surprise, which soon morphs into a sad smile. “Well, of course you do.”

A moment passes and we don’t move further. Our gaze is broken when she turns to look over her shoulder. “Hmm. We’re here.”

Here? Where? I realize only now that I have no idea where I am, and we’ve definitely walked quite a ways from the nurse’s tent where my mate Jo- Oh, god! Joseph!