Title: I Promise Author: sqira a. (sqira@notme.com) Classification: S Content Warning: PG Summary: Next time--I promise. Spoiler Warning: The Field Where I Died Distribution Statement: Sure. Cooler still if I know where. Feedback: I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. Disclaimer: Not mine, except the story. Author's Note: Any errors of fact contained herein are strictly my own. Dedicated to Abigail who answered my call for help. Thank you for the lovely beta. And happy birthday, Yevlin :o) It's been cool knowing you. ---------------------------------------------------------------- It was beautiful in its own way, not as beautiful as 'The Battle above the Clouds' as it was later romanticized, but it was a beauty itself; a glorious victory for the Union, a brave loss for the outnumbered Confederates. The dust had long settled, but the smoke never cleared. It hung heavily, like a stage curtain at the end of a play, jarring the view, masking the wonderful scenery played valiantly many hours before. Hovering over the field, it blanketed the massacre beneath, hiding. Hidden. It was dawn; the smoke mingling with the descending fog from Lookout Mountain, mixing to form the liverish-hued sky that had grown even darker. Eerie silence claimed the field, muffling the solemn cries and desperate shouts for help that had earlier rung through the air. He had heard them, had sorted through them to find the ones... and if he had listened, had tuned harder, he would have found them earlier, perhaps even saved them. Perhaps--in this life. ---------------------------------------------------------------- "Sergeant! We are ordered to leave, Sir. Now." He felt a tug by his elbow. The voice was close to a plea, as its owner, a young private cowered next to him, ducking his head nervously. "No!" he shrugged his arm away, "I will not. Tell General Cleburne that I'm staying. I'm staying!" His eyes searched wildly once more. He forgot the private next to him as he pushed his way through the men. He picked up his pace, running among the men, and peering into their faces. He wiped the blood off some of them, and knocked some hats off others. It wasn't *him*; it wasn't him all the time. *Oh Sullie, where are you?* "Sir! Sir!" The same small hand clawed at him, pulling his battered shirt. The private had caught up with him, stopping him in his tracks. "*Sir*" "Did I not give you an order, Private? Did I not?!" "But Sir, I was personally told to bring you back. General Bragg demands your presence, Sir. As we speak," the private stammered, from exhaustion, from just trying to get to him. "Tell him I won't. We lost, Private, can't you see? Look around you; what else is there? Freedom? Hah!" His laugh, detached and cold, frightened the private. He wondered about his luck in securing this detail; he should have stayed at his tent with Michael and waited for orders. No one in their right mind *looked* for orders, no one but him. "And besides," the sergeant continued softly, almost reminding himself, "*he* wouldn't leave this place. He's still here." "Sir?" The private coughed, clearing his throat. He smelled the unmistakable burning stench of dead flesh. He felt nauseous, dizzy from the sudden change in wind. The sergeant before him was even further away. He had a faraway look in his eyes that should only be reserved for--was it possible? Was it possible that he too, had a Mary somewhere, just like him? But a *he*? "Sir?" he tried again. "We should go back--" "No! *You* go back!" He reeled back, sidestepping the private. He stormed into the field, a thundercloud cried its warning nearby. "Go!" "Sir!" "Leave me! Tell them, you can't find me. Tell them, tell them..." he stopped, turning back to the private. His eyes downcast, already grieving with a loss. "Tell them I'm already dead." His body flinched with an overwhelming need that compelled him to defy, deceive, and disappear into the killing field. A ghost among the living, that was how he looked. It was the last time the private ever saw him alive. ---------------------------------------------------------------- *Sullie, Sullie, Sullie...* His name flowed easily from my mouth, like a gentle raindrop unto the ground beneath. A name that I've just known for the last few months but has branded me so deeply that I would be naked, useless--lost without it. He was young, tough, eager, and so much in love. I would hear for hours on end, how much he missed home, how he missed his brothers' fervent bickering every morning. But most of all, he would talk of Sarah, of how Sarah would wait for him by the hidden curve of the creek, armed with her picnic of homemade bread and smoked bacon. They would sit for hours, just talking, knowing, and missing one another till the Thursday next. He loved her, and each day he was away from her, I could see another crack in his heart. It was in these hours and minutes that I began to love him. Yes, *love*. How could one word, *love*, explain the different shades and hues of such feelings? How could the word even begin to describe what I felt for him? That I looked forward to every meeting, every opportunity to be with him? That I craved his voice, his deepened longings, even though I know they weren't for me? That with him, nothing else mattered; not the war, not the cold, lonely nights, not even Sarah? Oh Sullie, if you only knew... Some mornings, I would wake up just for him; to see him, to hear him. If I find him lost or missing with that morning smile etched just for me, I would look for him, and when I did find him, only then would I breathe. It felt strange; this *affection* towards him. So strange that I followed him everywhere; Mississippi, Virginia, here, to the ends of the world. It was unthinkable, unbelievable, impossible. Why do I harbor such feelings, and play with them, feeding them? Why me? It was so wrong, much too wrong. Where did I stand in this? An innocent onlooker? An unrequited lover? A third wheel? *God Sullie, I miss you already.* ---------------------------------------------------------------- I should have known better. I should have never let him go. Sullie was supposed to be by my side, defending the destroyed bridge over Chickamauga Creek. We had seen the blues over the other side, taunting us for our cowardice. But they couldn't get over, not without the bridge. "There's nothing here, Sarge. We missed the fun days ago," Sullie had complained, tired of the eye games. He sighed, giving me an all too-familiar protest. "*This* is not fun and games, Sullie," I retorted--the blues were getting antsy. Sullie opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. He shook his head, looking my way. I heard the fervid rustles behind me, and forced myself to turn away from him. I saw two men running up to me, gasping as they tried to find the words. "The General requests more," one stopped, "He needs more men, Sir." I blinked. It couldn't be. I retrieved the paper held out by the other man, reading the General's scrawly handwriting. Damn. "No, I need my men here. No!" I pushed the paper back. "Sir, it is an *order*," they stressed. I instantly had a foreboding. It was like a shadow had loomed behind me and refused to let me turn around and see it. I sensed the men looking at me, reading my thoughts. A long silence passed before I spoke. "Fine! Here," I signaled to a few men, shouting my commands when they got nearer. When they started to leave to follow the two men, I caught Sullie creeping back too. I stared at him, aghast. How could he even-- "Sullie--*No!*" He stopped in his tracks, his eyes fastened on mine. Then he grinned that crooked smile at me, like I *knew*. "Sarge, for Duty remember? The reason we're here?" "Yes," I said curtly, "but I need you more here, by the bridge." Which was a lie, of course. Sullie didn't seem to believe it for an instant. "I'll come back for you. We always do." But *that* was the lie--he didn't. ---------------------------------------------------------------- *Sullie, Sullie, Sullie...* The air pierced through every pore of my body. It brought with it the sickly stench that I knew too well. I had never gotten used to it; I merely knew it, kept it and threw its key away. But in times like this, it returned like a ghost, haunting the living. I could not find him. The field was filled with everyone but him. Bodies lay on top of another; each contorted into some episode of a bloody dance. Bodies that were malleable, pliant, before becoming hardened and blacked with blood. Their faces were cast in a combination of pain, fear and shock and their eyes were dark, no longer bright but shrouded with blood and grit. They didn't know what hit them. Heroes, losers, it didn't matter now. They were the fallen ones; the ones who had suffered all, sacrificed all and dared all--and died. "Sullie!" I cried suddenly when the unknown became too unbearable. I saw more greys than blues, and to my utter confusion everything started to blend horribly. Every face was of Sullie's; his blond hair, his sad blue eyes, the shadow beginnings of his smile. I was horrified. His image merged with the rest that graced the ground. It was a scene beyond my wildest dreams; one that would stay with me for the rest of my life. No, it was not that there had not been other fights, other battles, but I had never lose sight of Sullie before. This was the first and the only time. His images blurred, dissolving into someone else's, as I got closer to them. It wasn't him, it wasn't him too, I thought when I looked upon the faces at my feet. Perhaps, he was not here at all. Why didn't I think of that? Someone whimpered, and I bent down closer. He mumbled my name, and I remembered him. "Henry? Hold on Sergeant. Have you seen, have you--Sullie?" I tried to keep my voice from sounding desperate. He shook his head painfully. "Henry? Henry?!" He gurgled, and slipped before my very eyes. I closed his eyes, and said a prayer for him. On end, I felt heavier, almost exhausted. I lay Henry on the ground, and trudged on. All around me the field looked the same--the broken bodies, the leaden air, the cannon fire that still went on in a distance. But when I stepped to my right, time stood still. A head shifted in the grass, and Sullie's image moved with it. I ran. The wind nipped at my heels as I edged closer, closer to him. I slowed, giving the sweat a chance to pool. It was him. I found him. I knelt next to him, not knowing exactly where to start. I couldn't see anything wrong with him, his uniform unmarred; no blood, no grit, nothing. Yet, he lay motionless; his breathing (he breathes!) so slowed and measured that I thought he was just sleeping. "Sullie? Sullie, it's me--" He moaned. I cradled his head gently, sweeping his hair back into a fine mess. His eyes refused to open, even though I tried coaxing them back to life. Something had hurt him, and I grew weaker just knowing that. "Sarge?" He grabbed me and began to sob. "Sarge--" "It's okay, Scullie," I murmured. "It's okay, it's okay..." "Is it--what happened?" "Hush. Not now, Sullie," I pulled him tighter, seeing his eyes opened finally. He gasped in my hold and coughed painfully for relief. His mouth widened for air, and I received an eyeful of the bloody linings inside. I looked away, tearing unexpectantly. "Sarge? I'm glad you're here." I said nothing and just held him. After a moment, I raised my head to look at him: the dark stubble that covered his cheeks and chin, the weary eyes that settled and were somehow at peace. It was like gazing at someone who had been robbed of his love, and yet contented with the loss. His eyes were sharp and guileless as he gazed at me. He covered my hand with his--so cold, surely he shouldn't be this cold? "I'm really glad you're here. You *came* for me--I know you would," he gasped, his back bending over. He shook in my arms, the pain violently wracking him apart. It was then that I felt it; the warm fluid that pressed against his back, a steady flow between my fingers. "*No!--*" I bowed my head, mumbling something about *No, don't do this to me, wait...* "I miss Sarah, Sarge. You think she knows? That I love her?" I nodded, not caring where my tears would land. "Don't leave me, Sullie! Don't," I realized and fumbled for my pouch, finding the powdered morphine. "No, hold on! You can't leave me damnit!" The powder itched on my fingers, slipping through them like sand. Not enough, not enough-- "You won't, damnit! Here, look at me. Look at me," I pleaded when his eyes lost me and looked away. He reached for my face, trying to stop me. It must have hurt, because he grimaced as he cupped my cheek. He held me tenderly, his fingertips grazing me ever so softly. "William." His blue eyes were clear as water. "I'll love you next time. "I promise." I bit my lip. New tears stung my eyes, and I shook my head defiantly. "Why not *this* time? Why her and not me? I *know* you better, Sullie, I *know* you--" He smiled and raised his palm to my forehead. "---and I *love* you. I love--" And silently I wept. Because of course there would never be a next time. There had never even been a first time, and I hugged him closer so that he wouldn't see me crying. "I know, I know--*ah!*" Sullie fell before me, bringing me along. He gasped his final breath, and died, leaving me alone. "No Sullie no! No!" I brought him up to me, pressing him, forcing him to my chest. No damnit, no. Wake up, I said, *Wake up!*. He remained silent, his body so still. I leaned into my heels, howling at my loss. I felt dead, hollowed and empty. My life ended with his-- --and I didn't want to live anymore. ---------------------------------------------------------------- The chants grew fainter as the men surged forward. I remained at the back, securing the trampled ground. General Thomas was right; this was where we would win. This was where they had fallen, and glory had found us once again. We knew the sides had been watching, even though they had fared no better. Instead of weakening under their taunts, we fought harder and stronger, spurred on by this close scrutiny. We had something to prove, and this field, this field bore our name. That we won, that we had won this for them. The frontlines did a fine job. The grays had fought valiantly, and I was almost sorry for them. They were outnumbered, at the front and at the flanks, but still they hung on. We could use their spirit in some of my men. God knew, did they needed some. I thought the field would be silent, that the cries would have long gone, the bodies long lain. But something moved, a drift among the fallen. "Halt goes there!" someone barked behind. "Sir, there's one more of them." I held up my hand, confirming the sight. I noticed a figure on his knees, as if in repentance. He was hunched over, over a body perhaps, and his face was hidden in his bow. Nothing seemed to touch him. He was oblivious to the call, and the many others that followed. He held his position, his palms out in front of him. I walked faster, stepping towards him. Slowly, he stood, bringing his hands up above his head. He gazed to the sky and cried out a yearning, a loss. He palmed his hands out, showing them covered with blood, but the blood was cracked and drying, darkened like the others. He dropped his eyes to mine. I stared back. It was bizarre--he seemed to recognize me, and I, him; as if he had been waiting. Waiting for me all along. He smiled knowingly, relieved at my coming. *Take me*, he mouthed, loud enough for me to hear. I lowered my rifle, confused. *Take me*. He urged me again, egging me when he motioned his slung rifle. I did nothing, frozen by his eyes. His fingers had not even brushed the rifle when I heard a shot rang out from behind. "*No!--*" Every sense was driven from me. From very far away, I heard a rifle cocked back, the sound echoing throughout. One moment I was numb; the next I was blinking as I looked around. I covered the distance to him quickly. Seeing the strips on him as I kneeled down, I reckoned that he was a Sergeant; one of the Rebels' officers. His body had fallen rightly to his side, turning towards another soldier. He had stopped breathing when I reached him, and I saw his hand had grasped his fellow man in earnest. I wouldn't pry them, as if I had known this. That I had known them to be so; entwined, inseparable. Somebody grabbed my shoulder and I turned. "Sir?" "Leave them be. I'll see to their burial." I stood up and threaded heavily through the field. Taking off my hat and sliding the misty glasses off my nose, I stopped, clutching my hands to my chest. I had failed. I had failed to save them. *Again*. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you for reading. Scribendi cacoethes http://dencity.com/sqira/index.htm Respond to (sqira@notme.com) Recommend I Promise (1/1) ------------------------------------ ------------------------------------ Previous: Submerged (1/1) Next: 'Seven More Days' POST APOCALYPSE Pale the chicken Slayer