COMRAD AND BROTHER
War was not something new to the men serving the military, but for a novice such as myself, the realisation of reality could break even the strongest of men. The staring look from the commanders piercing eyes was something I thought I never would get used to, but that as well as the cold nights I have spent out patrolling the area, have been a must. So, my fear for just about anything has been something I have had to bite down. This whole thing has been voluntarily so for me to act like a cry baby would not do anyone any good.
We are what you call foot soldiers, we are the ones who perform military combat on foot. Well not all of us. Learning how to ride has been a crucial part of our training, because cavalry was and will be an important part of this so-called foot clan.
One would think that the ones caring for the artillery had the most difficult part of the war, but if you could see it from my perspective from where I am standing at this very moment, you would understand. Sure, their travels might be more straining on the body physically. But I can assure you, that what I have been doing till this day, is more straining to the mental health of a man than anything else.
That sounded a bit harsh, but we, the men who fight the bad guys in close range combat, has it harder than anyone else. Sitting in the back firing off some canons doesn’t sound too bad when you are working at the very front of the battlefield, watching your comrades die and listening to them scream of pain from a close range is worse than anything a man can ever experience.
I’m not saying that what they do is not life threatening, because it really is. While they are reloading, the redcoats are firing and in the process killing hundreds.
There is just something about staring at death himself as he fires a bullet going straight for your abdomen. The man with the rifle, looked sorry for what he had done, his face held one of regret for what he surely was about to do to my comrades. His eyes shifted away from me before they opened wide and he fell to the ground with a gaping hole through his chest.
Falling to my knees I could feel the soggy wet dirt so many men had trampled on in their haste to both kill and survive. There wasn’t anyone who served me a second glance or bullet, I was a dead man and they all knew it.
With a shaky hand I could feel my now blood-soaked uniform. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as I had though the impact of a bullet would have. But then again, the shock of just having been shot, might be the reason for that.
Ringing was all my ears managed to sort out from the many loud noises from around me, as I was slowly falling to the now bloodstained dirt and grass. The blood was pulsing out of the open wound with same pace as my pulls. Unable to move I laid there watching as my close comrades take lives in revenge for their closest friends with their mouths open in silent battle cries.
The risk of dying while at war, was something we all had to make ourselves familiar with. But never in my life would I think that this was the way I would end up dying, in the middle of the battlefield with the bullet of a rifle still buried deep in my abdomen.
My vision was slowly but surely going darker by the second. As the shock faded, the pain maid itself present. A deafening scream tore through my clenched teeth as a wave of pain ruched through my trembling body.
We were gaining control of the situation; the redcoats were falling back. Retreating. I’m not sure if it was the pain of the bullet wound and the blood loss, or the fact that we were winning yet another brawl with the so-called enemy. But the feeling of panic slowly got replaced by a numbness unknown that left me cold on the ground.
The faint sound of yelling got louder and clearer as the owner of the voice got closer to my current position. My name was called with such desperateness and panic I’m sure every man still standing could feel a shiver go down their spine.
Warm trembling hands was put on either side of my face before one travelled to my wound with pressure, in a desperate attempt to keep me alive. The owner of the voice and its warm hands couldn’t be any other person than Pierson himself. The man I had grown to love as a brother and best friend. The darkness of my vision did not let my eyes stay open any longer, and the fatigue of the situation was pulling me further and further away from the life I had grown used to living.
Death wasn’t anything new amongst the midst of war, but with each other by our side, we always, no matter what managed to soldier through. And I’m sure that if our positions been switched so that Pierson was the one dying in my arms, I’m sure I would have felt the same wave of panic as him.
The desperateness of his voice got worse by every passing second. I could still feel my shoulders being shaken and my body being cradled in his own trembling arms. By now I was far too gone to really know or understand what was happening.
Pierson rocked our bodies in a steady rhythm I’m sure he held dearly to his heart. “It’s alright buddy. Its alright.” A sob ripped through his tough façade as he openly cried for his fallen comrade, brother and best friend. His voice as well as his entire form was shaking from the cries wrecking his body.
He held on tighter as Roberts form stilled in his arms. He was whispering assuring words to both himself and the man lying in his arms, even though his words fell on deaf ears.
Pierson had a hard time wrapping his head around the episode that had just accrued right in front of his eyes. But he new now, more than ever that he had to stay strong and fight for them both.
A strong calloused hand gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze to show the shell of a man sitting on the ground, that he as well as the other men would not leave his side in his time of need. He was told that Robert did not die in vain and that he had been a tough guy through and through. He knew he was strong after the countless of times he had listened to the man as he had told him his every fear. Even though the biggest fear of them all was to die, he still went head first in every situation without a second thought.
His only hope now was that Robert will watch over his shoulder and battle his daemons and still have his back even though he had failed him this gruesome day at Stone River.
57
The Bridge - 1861 - Erasmus+
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