Henri stood looking through his binoculars as the grey backed infantry poured out of the forest. He looked for Francis in the rather short and organized column that left the woods. Scanning the faces of the many soldiers he noted a single emotion. Shame. The sting of defeat reaching into the pits of his stomach. He placed a hand on it. “You alright, sir?” Charles spoke looking towards him. Henri simply nodded before seeing his friend.
Francis had a look of a ghoul. He was pale and his eyes sunken. A red stained bandage was wrapped tightly around his leg. When Henri looked at his face. Francis had stared forwards as if he could see Henri himself even though they were far apart. Francis had placed a hand over his eyes trying to see who was staring at him.
However, as he observed, he noted the sound of gun fire close behind, which spurred the infantry to move just a bit faster. Now Henri turned his attention to the escaping dragoons. They were mounted; however, he saw their faces frozen in panic. They fired frantically into the mouth of the forest. He saw Major Lauder stop and turned his mount rallying a small group of men who fired mercilessly into the forest. Yet, that was that. The men that stayed with the major quickly turned tail and fled. They had routed.
Henri looked into the eyes of Harry whose eyes darted back at the forest and to the men. Henri saw the soot on his forehead began to run down with that of sweat. The fear was getting to him. All Henri could think about was ‘run, you fool. Survive. Get out of there.’ Then he watched as Harry swore and followed his men into shame.
Charles had tapped Henri’s shoulder. “Henri, General York requires your presence at headquarters.” Charles opened his hands as if he asked for the binoculars to which Henri obliged. Charles stared at the rather stained binocular looking over the many scuffs and scratches that covered the thing. The action it had seen.
Henri mounted his horse as the sounds of fighting subsided. Accompanied by his small retinue of guards and messengers. Towards the divisional headquarters. They rode past several brigades who had their men digging into the hard soil. The number of guns had impressed him to all degrees, over a hundred or so, all differing calibers. He rode down the quickly well-worn roads as a troop of cavalry, most likely the remnants of the lancers, galloped past. Their black Oule feathers flowing in the crisp wind.
Upon arriving at the gates and dismounting he noticed the vast amount of brigade officers gathering at the scene. The number of differing uniforms with the piping of their units' colors had been emblazoned in the afternoon sun. Henri nodded or saluted each member accordingly before placing himself along the tail end of the group. The leading man, general Wilcox, then led the procession to meet General York.
Henri had met General David York for a moment or so as a sort of meeting the boss. He gave quick pleasantries. Too quick to gauge the personality of the man. However, he knew one thing. He was active to say the least. Moving to and forth between brigade locations. He had the luck of the headquarters being located near fifth brigade in the afternoon. Some of the other brigade commanders seem to hold the general in contempt for his constant irregular movements. Which played havoc on the tempo of battle.
Upon entering the sparsely furnished room. Henri laid eyes on the general who was standing, he had never seen the man sit other than on his horse, staring at a series of topographic maps. His auburn hair gave way to the moniker that some of the troops called him. The fighting devil. He looked up flashing his emerald eyes looking at the small group of officers as if they were new pieces to add to his ever-expansive board.
“Ah, gentleman. So glad to have your company. I must say though it is a bit chilly.” He looked at Henri as if he was inspecting a valuable piece of furniture. “General Dubois, I assume you had taken time to fortify your position. If the earlier disturbance is any occurrence. I also hope that your men were taken care of?” Henri simply nodded taking caution in speaking to his new superior.
“General, no need to be on guard, we are allies. Fighting for the same cause.” Henri tried to read his superiors facial expression; however, the simple thin smile that greeted him sent a shiver down his spine. Almost as if he had been read the worlds over. York began to speak on the current situation. “As you men shall know” giving a quick scan of the room before settling on Henri.
“The imperials are pushing through the woods and due to the sacrifice of general Dubois’ men. They had bought some much needed time.” Several of the accompanying officers nodded and patted Henri on the back. Henri observed that some of the officers hid a tinge of bitterness through a furrowed brow there or a turned smile here. Henri thanked them but in truth wanted to leave this very instance. He hated this type of gathering.
It reminded him of when he accompanied his father to the merchant association’s meetings. All sorts of scheming merchants, who tried to either covertly or in desperate time overtly, make a desperate profit to keep themselves a float. Henri knew it was the exact same. The hungry eyes, the stiff posture, and the noticeable boot licking that accompanies such things.
Henri’s face contorted in disgust. However, it was when his eyes met the general’s emerald eyes which bore into him. They stared into his own as if he was trying to read his thoughts. Henri dropped his disgust in fear of those green eyes. The eyes of the devil. General York flicked his gaze giving more orders to the other brigade commanders. A bit of sweat dripped down Henri’s back.
Henri stood waiting for this meeting to end. The general had given a simple order to form defensive lines around the mouth of the forest. He then bid farewell to the generals. Upon leaving Charles sat on a fence chatting with some of Henri’s staff. Seeing their general Charles waved a hello. At this moment the group mounted and began to ride towards their brigade.
Arriving at the location of his brigade he saw the dragoons and the 17th regiment resting near one of the clearings. Upon seeing them Henri rode forwards to see his men. The 17th looked at him apathetically. Their once somewhat clean uniform was covered in the dirt, sweat, and blood. The dragoons were no better. He noted the bandages that wrapped the limbs and head of each soldier.
Henri looked for Francis or Horne. However, he could not find them. Instead, he found the country esquire that was sergeant Seamus. Who sat near a tree tending to his wounds. The color sergeant talking jovially with the witty man. Upon seeing Henri, Seamus tried to stand. A hand from Henri stopped the sergeant. “General, darling. How glad I am to see someone that once commanded the regiment...” Henri stopped the man’s praise knowing how long he would go on.
He stood looking towards the shadow of a tree. There he was Francis; he sat with his leg outstretched nursing the wound that was bandaged. As he approached, the once jovial and beaming colonel sat in abject silence. It felt as if the light that usually brightened his countenance had soured and darkened. “General” Francis said coldly. He wasn’t looking at him. Henri stopped short before speaking. “Francis, where is Scott? I tried to inquire some of the officers and Seamus but they gave me vague answers.”
Henri watched as his friend looked up not at him but towards the forest entrance that laid across from them. “He lays there Henri. Near the opposite end of the forest. They were on us. Couldn’t rightfully take him or the others. We abandoned them. I could only retrieve this.” He held up a hand. Henri dared not to look for fearing the truth. However, he could not let his friend suffer alone. Taking a glance, he saw it. Scott Horne’s wedding ring.
He remembered the day Scott had bought the thing. Francis and him were forced to accompany Scott in the purchase and in the following proposal scene. At the time they were all happy. He knew he had to write to Christine. However, he also knew that Francis had too as well. Henri just looked at Francis. “Meet me at my cabin tonight. We’ll write the letters together. Also, I still have the bottle of whiskey. I think it best we share a glass and you tell me what happened.”
However, the moment was soured when Henri informed Francis that his regiment shall join the rest of the brigade in forming a secondary line of defense and with that Henri leaves to his headquarters. Where he waited for the call to either defend his position yet again or to reinforce the 3rd brigade to which he stood several hundred yards behind. All through the day he waited hearing the occasional pops of musketry. Yet, the orders never came. He stood ready to ride at a moment's notice that he had completely forgotten that the sun had set.
He remained unaware until he heard a knock at his door. He stood with his forage cap in hand. “Come in” he said swallowing to hear the news. He was surprised though to see Francis who clutched at his own cap as he entered. “General I have come to write the letter to Christine.” Henri stood gawking at Francis coming to the realization of the time. He swallowed his surprise. “Right. Come.” He rang a small bell calling a private in the next room over to come. “Bring the bottle of whiskey that lies in my case would you. The one with a red cord tied to it.” Moving his seat, he made space for Francis to sit.
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Francis took the spare seat and waited. His stiff posture stressing Henri ever so slightly. When the private returned. He placed the lightly brown bottle in front of them along with two clear glasses. Thanking the private, Henri pulled out two pieces of paper along with the newly purchased pens that had become popular as of late.
Henri looked towards the bottle, pulling it towards him he felt the liquid inside swish and slosh as he begins to open the cork. The woody smell began to fill his nose as he poured the liquid in. When he turned to offer the glass to Francis, he saw that he was entranced by the bottle itself. “Francis...” before he could even say anything Francis had placed a hand on the bottle. “You know, Henri I sort of wished you were there. At least to witness Scott in his final moments. I...” He coughed as he tried to finish his sentence.
Henri stared trying to read his friend. All he saw was regret and shame. He took a sip of the liquor. The contents of which burned on the way down. Yet the aftertaste was smooth with hints of vanilla. “Tell me about the skirmish after I left.” Francis did, he stuttered trying to get himself together. He talked about inspecting the line. Watching the imperials slowly encroach on his position like an ocean tide. He talked about the numbers of imperials and Henri felt a tense feeling in his stomach. Francis spoke more with Henri inquiring on specifics. However, Henri noted that he wasn’t telling about Scott.
Francis finally explained. “I did not see him die. I was knocked unconscious. I was told only after. Seamus told me. He told me how Scott took command mounting his horse and rallying the men. How in the swirl of chaos and death he was struck in the hip. He refused any assistance continuing to rally and order the men. Until another round struck him. In the chest this time.” Henri watched as Francis explained the scene from Seamus’ point of view. How Scott Horne had while still trying to shout orders with a chest wound was shot once again bringing him down.
Francis stared at his glass in silence broken by the dry heaving that had occurred as he remembered Scott’s death. Henri stared at his friend. The silence drowning the noise of crickets that tried to permeate the room. He took another swig but stopped when he realized that his glass was empty. He reached towards the bottle before Francis placed a hand on it. “Let me Henri” Henri nodded and was poured another glass. Henri took a sip and felt his body warm at the contents. “You need to write that letter Francis” at that Francis stared at Henri. “You know why I can’t write it. I can dictate and assist, but I cannot put words onto that paper.” Francis was about to argue. When Henri stood up. “I regret that Scott had died under my command. Yes, but I was not there. Now I will remain here as you write. However, I shall not let you wallow in his death. Look at you. If Christine saw you, she would just think her husband and friend had died today.”
Francis looked down again at the desk. Not at the glass that was half empty with the liquor but at the paper next to him. He stared at the thing. He wondered how Christine would feel upon reading it. He stared at Henri damning him in his mind, but he could not remain angry. All he thought about was the grief he felt upon hearing of Scott’s death. However, when Henri refused to write the letter. Denying Christine the knowledge of Scott’s death. Something awoke in his mind. It would be cowardice to force Henri to write about Scott when he wasn’t even there.
Francis stared at the blank parchment acting as sort of a mirror that stared back at him. Henri stood near a window staring into the night. Francis then looked towards the half empty glass. He rubbed the lip of the glass remembering the day that Scott had bought the bottle for them. It was a better time. A brighter time. Yet, he could not leave Christine in the dark. He took the glass and downed the remaining liquor inside. Shuttering as the contents of which warmed his body.
He took the pen, a piece that was bought from the capital. Oh, the capital he thought. Christine must be waiting at their house for a letter. He remembered that Scott had worried about sending a letter the day before the skirmish, but had forgotten when the shooting had started. Then he felt his breast pocket. A cold wind had crept into the cabin which went towards his spine. He pulled the paper out. At this point Henri had turned staring at him and the letter. “Is that...” Henri stopped himself. Francis nodded. He opened it and read the contents.
“My love,
I mourn the fact that I am not home with you. I know you had written asking to come, but I cannot expose you to such dangers. The campaign had been fine. We had been relegated to baggage guards for the last month.
I have great news for you though. Henri had been promoted. To command a brigade. Sadly, it's just Francis and I in command of the regiment. Seamus says hello. The old man insists that I send you some of the food as a treat. Who would like hard rye bread and dried jerky as a gift.
I hate to mix joyous feelings with bad news, but tomorrow I am to go to battle. We are retreating through the Barron Forest. The army was shattered but we are regrouping with the 7th corps as I write this letter.
I hope to see you soon.
My love and hopes,
Scott William Horne”
Francis had finished reading the words aloud when he looked towards Henri. Francis saw Henri’s hand fiddling with the glass. He looked away, but Henri spoke first. “Damnit. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn this all to hell. I should have stayed. I should have led the rearguard.” Francis began to stand in his seat. “You did what was best. What was practical.” Henri shook his head in disgust. “Look what that caused. The men killed and Scott dead.” Francis stood there dumbfounded.
“Are you stupid. Listen to yourself. Imagine if the newly promoted general of brigade was killed. How that would look. Then what if Scott didn’t survive. I would be still stuck here. Alone.” Henri stared at Francis for a moment before he walked over to the bottle. He paused looking at the half-drunk thing. He knew he didn’t want to drink it all because then there would be nothing left of Scott other than the memories. He grabbed the cork and sealed the bottle. Francis saw him take a deep breath. Then place the bottle back on the table. “We’ll finish this with Christine.” Francis stared at the bottle solemnly.
Henri then turned staring at Francis. Whose eyes were drooping from today’s exhaustion. “Right. I think it is best that we send a letter to Christine. Now how we are going to do that might beyond me. I mean the four of us were close.” Francis’ head drooped at that. The letter. He had forgotten about during the argument.
Francis took the pen in his hand. The handcrafted metal felt smooth in his hand. The bronze tip quivered as he thought of the words. Then it came to him. “Dearest Christine,” he wrote with a small shake to it. “I am sorry to be the bearer of such unfortunate news.” The words felt ingenious to him. Henri took a seat next to him staring at the words he had written so far. Francis looked at Henri who had begun to quietly read the words aloud.
He continued to write “the recent battle with the imperials had been difficult. There had been some losses on our side. However, there was a greater loss. A loss that wounds both Henri and I. A loss that would directly wound you the most.” Henri finished reading the words aloud before leaning back. “She would like the honest truth, Francis. Do not lie to her.”
Francis stared at the paper his vision was blurry to say the least. “Scott had sadly fallen in battle. I am afraid to tell you grizzly demise of Scott. So, I shall tell you the truth. I was unable to witness his fall. Instead, it was Seamus who witnessed it himself.” He stared at those words. Francis spoke towards Henri “You’ll think she’ll damn me?” Henri put his hands together, wringing them hard. “Who knows. I know she cannot blame you.”
He looked to the parchment again. “If you want, I can have Seamus, write you a letter about it or after the war. However, what I can do right now is gift you this. The ring that Scott had given you.” Henri placed a hand on Francis’ shoulder. “Can Seamus write?” Francis stared at Henri for a moment. The thought dawning on him. He shot the question back to Henri. “Can he?”
Henri leaned back thinking about Seamus O’Hare. He knew he was a soldier for the last fifteen years. Earning the rank of company sergeant in the imperial army. Then joining the revolution and becoming the 17th's regimental sergeant. However, in his times where Seamus would bring letters and orders to Henri. Not once did the sergeant imply that he knew what they say save for what the messenger conveyed.
Henri asked for the pen. Francis obliged and read the words Henri wrote. “If anything, you may further write to Henri or I as a source of comfort for these trying times.” Henri then returned the pen to Francis. “That should do it” Henri said. Francis nodded singing and sealing the letter along with the ring. Henri then took the letter along with Scott’s letter.
Francis sat there looking up towards Henri. “Will that be enough. I mean she will be devastated to say the least.” Henri stared down towards the letter in his hand. The ring slightly protruding. He fiddled with it before speaking “that is the best we can do right now. Only time will tell.” He looked towards his watch. Half past midnight. He sighed. “We need to go to bed. The enemy does not wait. I’ll send the letters in the morning.”
Francis agreed and stood to leave. He turned as he was at the threshold of the door. He looked back towards the dark room. The candle that illuminated the desk had been diminished towards the stump. Henri’s face was shadowed in darkness. Francis saluted Henri for the night and in return was given one. “Good night, General.” Henri smiled his teeth glowing in the lingering candle light. “Good night, Francis.”