Looking out over the vast muddy expanse of the camp of twelve thousand souls a numbness extends itself through my mind. The neat rows of tents set in a martial perfection belie the sickness within and without. The discordant melody of the constant sucking noise of booted feet through the mud serves to remind me of the purpose of my recent existence. To live is to die and a soldier only lives to die. We dance a macabre dance across the field of battle with only the carrion crows soaring above to celebrate the passing of each day.
The shambling gait of those few that make it back to the lines that mark a measure of safety dwindle with every passing day. The absent stare of the veterans serve as a reminder, to those few that still cling to hope, of what awaits us when the trumpets call us to be weighed and measured by the reaper.
For three years I have been forced to serve in the 14th Continental Army. At our home outside of Charleston the press gang wagons came to collect me and I was taken from my love Sarah with the point of a bayonet leveled at my back. I still feel her arms around me and the brush of her lips as panic overwhelmed us. The grasping arms forcibly separating us and dragging me to the back of the wagon was nothing compared to the anguished cries of my Sarah protesting wildly and falling to her knees as the dust covered her sobbing form dwindling behind the wagon as it bore me inexorably onward. My greatest shame was that I never truly resisted.
The prosecution of our independence set the stage for all of the events to follow. General Washington attained the impossible when he fought the English and sundered their rule from the colonies. We achieved our independence and had peace for a brief time. England was a constant presence in the states even after the uneasy peace was struck. Trade was necessary with our sister country for us to survive and thrive. With the trade came a rebuilding process. New York was hurt the worst through the revolution. After being sacked and razed two times, the town was rebuilding itself to rise from the ashes and chains that marked its grave. Boston and Philadelphia did not go by unmolested by the war either. New buildings were erected, each greater than the last and were to serve as an everlasting testament to the sacrifices of the slain that allowed us to achieve such immortality. There was an unbridled hope and desire for the future that was infectious. Toasts were raised to those that fell by the wayside and would not know what their lives bought. Looking back it is remembered with great sorrow as the calm between the storms.
Then disaster struck. At first we didn’t know what was happening. The machinations of King George’s devious mind were so subtle that it took years afterwards for us to recognize the warning signs that no one was watching for. In our ignorance we believed ourselves to be a mighty country and unassailable. Full of the brash hope of newlyweds we did not latch the door and willfully forgot that there are dangers in the night.
The hero of the revolution was the first to fall. After being elected as our first president he soon declared a mandatory conscription of all men of military age to be summoned and trained into the standing militias. With the ultimate goal of every citizen being a soldier, we thought ourselves a great army that whole towns could be mustered in a day and sent off to give battle with any enemy on the next. In truth, it was that confidence that opened the door for the dagger to strike. No one really knows how it happened but we do know that President Washington was found hanging from a juniper tree with four words carved into his chest. We do not forget.
Pandemonium erupted in the states. John Adams rallied the local militias and sent them marching to and fro but with no enemy to fight they were soon sent home disheartened and disillusioned that such a tragedy could scar our great union. Like a thief in the night our vaunted immortality was stolen from our hearths, and our doors were left broken and askew, with the muddy footprints of the trespassers marring our perfectly appointed homes. From that point onward we had one eye constantly over our shoulder. With one hand on the hilt of a pistol men walked the streets in a hunched fashion, leaning into the night and wishing to pass unremarked from the storm. It was a dark period.
With the passage of time we began to relax our guard. Nervous laughter could occasionally be heard outside a tavern door again by people scurrying down the streets. It was the sort of nervous laughter that was full of portent that asked if it would ever be right to really laugh again. England fortified our peace by sending engineers to help speed the rebuilding along. Thinking this a sign of a renewed friendship we gladly accepted and again thought ourselves capable of being great friends. We welcomed them with open arms and warm embraces knowing that past wrongs could be righted with due diligence and the spirit of sacrifice. Great fort towns were erected for the English to reside in alongside the ravished towns of Boston, New York and Philadelphia.
King George gradually built up the strength of the English armies over the span of twelve years. Engineers and aid workers were sent in at first and it wasn’t until much later that the arm of the military came. The English made the proposal as a peacekeeping force and to openly show the love and trust between our two countries so all know that to assail one is to assail both. Our congress grudgingly gave a nod of approval. After a time, and with the relaxation of someone expecting a blow from an unseen presence that never arrives, we again turned a blind eye to the subtle realization that the English military presence was slowly growing to match our own. The world has a way of humbling those full of hubris.
When the blow struck it was fast and left us reeling in shock. The first shots of the second English invasion were fired on the threshold of the congressional building. A single squad of English soldiers marched through Philadelphia and right into the welcoming open doors of our governmental building. The Colonel tasked with the execution marched up the rows of tables to President John Adams, snapped to attention, presented his pistol and shot him through the eye. The stunned silence after the report of that single shot reverberated throughout the country. Announcing to the onlookers that everything they thought was certain was just irrevocably shattered before their eyes. Before Adams’ body hit the floor the rest of the soldiers opened fire into the congressman. It was a quick and bloody work with survivors being hunted down and finished with the final thrust of a bayonet.
Following the severing of our governing body the English were quick to capitalize on our confusion. New York was seized without a shot being fired. Philadelphia and Boston resisted for a short time with sporadic and disorganized fighting in the streets. The English merchant ships anchored in the Boston Harbor opened fire on our great Navy without a single tolling of the bell ringing our sailors to battle. Most of our ships of the line were sunk or damaged beyond repair. Only two survivors managed to limp under sail out of the harbor to bring witness that we once more fought for our lives.
Marching south the English armies then seized Princeton, Trenton and Baltimore. It was in Baltimore that the English made their first mistake. Thinking that it would take time for news to spread and a resistance to be mustered they stalled long enough to secure their victories thus far. While they were busy shoring up their lines of supply and building way forts, riders from the North made it to Charlotte and Charleston bringing news of the tragedy. The assembly bells were rung with a fervor unmatched to this day and everyone that was alive at the time of the ringing remembers with a shrill intensity the portent with which the clamor was raised.
Men scurried in a panic to the fields with musket, powder and ball. Renowned military leaders of the Revolutionary War dispatched scouts to reconnoiter the traitor’s position and divine their intent. Plans of battle were made and regiments sallied forth to meet the enemy with a grim determination that filled the onlookers with pride and a bitter sorrow knowing that they were looking on the marching dead.
The first skirmish was met just north of Richmond. The Continental Army, having been swelled by summoning the militias on the march northwards, now burgeoned with more than thirty thousand souls and was ready to begin to reap their harvest of blood. The two armies tangled briefly on three separate engagements, neither side gaining any advantage that could be exploited to bring about victory.
The Continental Army under the leadership of Benedict Arnold, wanting to bring about a decisive victory, pursued the English army into a trap. The English split their forces in the night and forced a march on the Continentals. They fell on them while half the army was asleep in their bedrolls. The call of the trumpets split the night air and the report of cannon and musket served as a backdrop to the anguished song of the dead and dying. With a vengeance in their hearts, the Continentals did muster themselves to give a valiant showing of their determination and eventually fought their way to freedom through the lines of the English.
Bloody and beaten they shuffled into Richmond where riders were sent out summoning reinforcements from all neighboring towns. Three months passed in which the English began receiving reinforcements of their own from their home country. Fortifications were erected marking the boundaries that established a new rule in the countryside. Like dogs licking their wounds the two forces eyed each other warily while busying themselves with rebuilding their strength.
The Continental Army once again marched forth to meet the English on the field. Snaking their way along the main avenues with martial cadence, the confident measured steps announcing that they were a force to be reckoned with and they will bring a reckoning!
The English, however, had a different plan. Having extensive experience with erecting fortified structures, they made a line of forts that began to span the divide between the two occupied territories. With overlapping lines of fire each fort supported its neighbors allowing no single fort to be assailed without its neighbors having to be attacked as well. They furthered their impregnability by starting to dig trenches and tunnels that connected each fort and allowed its neighbors to come swiftly with aid when needed.
The Continental Army paused in bewilderment before making their first sally. The positions were clearly unassailable but with foolish confidence, that they could not be stopped, the order was given to begin the siege. Lines were drawn and earthworks were erected behind which our cannon were brought to bear.
For two years this stalemate was maintained with neither side willing to relent. The mounds of the unmarked graves grew steadily. The carrion crows grew fat with decadence and outnumbered the soldiers on the field of battle.
The widows and orphans of the fallen began to bestir themselves in angst towards the futility of the conflict. Their husbands and fathers were being marched to a slaughter to no avail. Talks of a ceasefire began to spread throughout the assemblies and hope sprung anew.
After negotiations, both sides decided to declare an armistice with new borders being drawn and rules of engagement agreed upon. Grieving widows were seen rushing to the lists that were posted of prisoners of war previously thought fallen, but now are to be reunited with their loved ones. The bitter happiness of the time came with a price and a heavy heart. The ghosts in the eyes of the survivors of those conflicts remained and no amount of peace would be able to bestir them to lift their heads in more than a wary glance at the stranger in passing.
This time rebuilding was not in earnest nor met with hope. It was known that war would break out again but we were determined to be ready this time. No longer caught unawares by the strength and cunning of our enemy, we poured our might into constructing great warships and expanding our forts. New soldiers were drafted and drilled to reinforce the depleted ranks. The thought that was catching the collective consciousness of our governing body was to make ourselves to appear to be so strong that attacking us would be foolhardy at best.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Death stalked the streets and every citizen felt the pull of the grave on their hearts. Affairs blossomed with a desperate need to shed the palling reality that their lives were nothing more than a delayed funeral. Newlyweds had shadows cast upon their marital beds knowing that their happiness and joy came with an unannounced expiration date but love is often willfully blind to such things. Record numbers of marriages were reported and this was encouraged and welcomed. The thought that love conquers all was in evidence and worked to beat back the tide of time. Despite all evidence to the contrary, life must go on.
A tiredness of war engulfed those that have had a taste of happiness. They clutched at life and despaired at the waste in conflict. Many began to ask what was the point? Why do we need to fight these others who have families of their own that yearn for their safe return?
When the hostilities broke out again there was a widespread resistance. A flower, that was just beginning to bud and bloom, was crushed underfoot and the witnesses gasped, with surprise evident on their faces, at the dawning realization that their universe was shattered once again. Those affairs turned into wild protests when husbands were torn forcibly from the arms of their loved ones and forced, at the point of a bayonet, back to the lines. New wives fell to their knees, clutching at swollen bellies, and wept openly in the streets with the knowledge that their men were being reacquainted with the reaper.
The breaking of the armistice came suddenly, like most things like this do. Seeing, what was assumed to be, a weakness in the line of the English, we tried to seize an opportunity and capture a fort on the line that would allow us to gain a foot hold. From there we would be able to deconstruct the English defenses piece by piece. The resistance was fierce and bloody but we did win out eventually and captured our prize. Only to lose it the next day to an English counter attack.
I remember that battle as if it was yesterday. I can still see the throngs of English soldiers rushing through the same gaps in the walls that we had just previously breached to allow us to pour in. Like a cup begging to be filled they rushed in and it over flowed with blood. I stood at the parapet looking on in horror as my countrymen were overwhelmed. The red tide sweeping through the currents of our forces was punctuated by bright flashes of lightning striking those caught unawares and unprepared, the death toll on that day was more than I had ever witnessed previously and since.
After several months of pitched battles we have set ourselves a comfortable rhythm. Like clockwork we charge with every dawn and we retreat every sundown. I sometimes think we are just measuring ourselves so the angel of death can keep pace.
Early in the morning the trumpet sounded the clarion call to battle telling all that they must pay their dues. With the martial tap of the drums we assembled into rows and columns giving the snakes in our bellies a twist to stir them to wakefulness. The signal to march was given and the dirge was struck anew. The pipers played us a merry tune welcoming us home, once more, into the carnal house of slaughter.
The clack and jingle of muskets and buckles provided enough of a racket that it covered the expectant hush over the line. All ears were straining to hear the first booming thunderous echo to break the stillness of the morning air. Once it came, I can almost hear an audible sigh through the ranks at the welcoming sight of a friend coming over a hill, and we strode to greet him with open arms.
At first it was only the cannon that opened up with great gouts of fire, spewing earth and debris in great clouds around the impacts. The agonized screams of those that were torn asunder pierced the din and made me cringe with every exclamation. Next were the muskets. Like corn popping in a kettle, there was a sudden loud burst of individual guns firing with a few sporadic stragglers coming after. Left and right men were shot down, some making loud yells of surprise and others with no sound at all. Dead before they hit the ground. I envied them their release from this torment.
The call for arms was heard and we raised our muskets up to our shoulders. With a howl only the tormented can muster, we fired. I can never tell if I hit what I am aiming at nor am I sure I am actually aiming at anything. When the numbness of battle envelopes me, all I can swear by is that I pulled the trigger. Closing my eyes, I began to reload, with it now as familiar as dressing myself in the morning. With practiced movements my hands fly over my musket preparing it for another volley of death. I raise it to my shoulder and shudder under the recoil as another piece of my soul was torn away. After so many years it was a tattered and pitiful thing full of a ruinous glory.
The order to advance was again passed down the lines to those few that are still standing to hear it. I started to shuffle forward in mass with my fellows when I feel a hand push me down hard. At first, I struggle to rise but bone deep weariness envelopes me, beckoning me to just lay there for a time in this moment of peace in the chaos. I lay back down and drift back home to my Sarah.
On days like these I stare up at the sky often wondering what life would be like without the constant pressure of death on my heels. I would still be with Sarah at our little piece of land in the countryside. Far enough away the distant thunder of cannon can be passed off as a fly buzzing around your head and easily ignored with constant distraction. There I could build a life with her. We would be happy and claim ourselves to be explorers of all the new wonders constantly discovered in each other’s souls. War and strife would be a far thought off thing distantly remembered and never paid heed. With these dreams of a more peaceful time I let sleep overtake me.
I open my eyes after some time and find myself on my back with the night sky above me. I can hear the sound of battle still being played out far in the distance. I run my hands down my front lightly touching myself, for fear of what I will discover, and stumble on a gap in my skin just above my navel. A sigh escapes my lips and a tear rolls down my cheek. A death wound has been wrapped with great care and given to me on this auspicious day of hope and sorrow. I can still hear the piper’s tune, stuck cloyingly in the air, washing over the vanquished dead and dying. It lifts me up and gives me enough strength to claw at the air giving voice to my rage. The tragedy of the cursed fallen to know that they were duped out of a life of love in trade for despair.
After I gave vent to my anger and sobs wracked me. I laid back and watched the clouds play against the sky with tears in my eyes. For the love I once bared openly for the world to see, I now hold close and jealously guard under lock and key. At once both terrified to let my gaze rest upon it as to let it slip from my mind to never be recovered. I don’t understand the price that is demanded of us to offer upon this altar of sacrifice nor the readiness that I found myself willing to offer it.
I roll on my side gazing out on the field. My eyes stroll over the landscape with its new abundance of small hillocks, on which, I can see the black forms of deaths mercenaries clawing each other to start their work in earnest. My eyes finally find purchase when my gaze locks on the shuddering form of a man, broken as I am, staring at me.
His gaze seems to ask a question. Why? Why do they make us give so much for so little in return? Why was I chosen to be the next to fall? Why? Why? Why!
I just stare at him with no answer to give. Full of my own questions and doubts. For a brief moment, and an eternity, we share each other’s company and I witness him shift from here to there. Passing away silently with only a shudder and a sigh, bereft of all the comforts we all long for in our times of need. I whisper a silent prayer beseeching his soul a safe passage and hoping he will hold the gate open for me to follow.
The cold of the night pulled a mist from the earth. Covering the muddy blood soaked expanse of exposed ground in a gauzy death shroud. A lone hand can be seen stretching through the inky grayness, grasping at the heavens above in a macabre prayer, asking for mercy from those that are willing to listen. The sight is almost so beautiful I cannot bear to look upon it.
Sarah, I pray that you are safe and you move far away from this. When I meet the angel of death I will fight him tooth and nail and I will delay him till old age claims you and you are ready to join me in the heavens. The price I pay will not be reaped in blood from those that I am forced to leave behind.
The grim necessity of the mounting casualties of this conflict has forced each individual soldier to prepare a self-addressed letter to their families. Both for the purposes of counting the casualties and sparing the officers the trouble of writing a letter informing the next of kin of the deceased soldier they barely knew.
I clutch at the letter pinned in the front pocket of my coat to re-assure myself that it was still there and that Sarah will not be asked to wait for long before she is released from her oath to me. After so long at brutality, my hands rejoice at this last purpose I have given them.
Distantly, I hear the clomp of boots in the mud on their way past me and trumpets signaling, to those still on the line, that soldiers are returning. One passes next to my ear with the cloying squish of mud clinging to the heels and I feel the mud spray against my cheek. I briefly meet his gaze as he strides by. We share a glance that only those long acquainted with our occupation can share - Good bye for now, my friend, I will see you soon.
I take a last longing look at the moon hanging motionless in the sky and a beacon of hope fills me knowing that Sarah could be gazing heavenward. For a brief moment the vast leagues that separate us seem to be no more than a puddle to skip across.
I whisper across that puddle, “I love you my dear. May happiness find you and the weighty despair of loss not cling long to your heart. With this letter as my last tribute to our love I bid you farewell, until we meet again.”
I feel death waiting impatiently to collect me and bear me onward. I run my hand over my face brushing my eyelids closed and cross my arms over my chest, still holding the letter in my hands to keep it safe and take my first step on my final journey home.
Two weeks later Sarah Bradford received a letter from the Continental War Department with the last words of her husband:
My Dearest Sarah,
I love you more than words can express but I am inspired to write a few to leave you with one last embrace that crosses the divide between the spirit and the living. Even though you know that I have been taken from this world, be at peace now knowing that I will never leave your side. Our, too brief, journey through the depths of love has bound us tighter than this mortal coil could ever attempt to restrict. I am with you now, holding fast, never to be separated again. When you rest your head beneath the willow tree it will be I that sends the breeze that whispers your name through the eaves. The soft lullaby of the creek is me comforting you in my arms so you may rest with peace in your heart. The sun falling on your cheeks will be my soft caress and the hint of a kiss.
I have much to apologize for. I took your love for granted, with the foolish confidence of youth, thinking we would have years to express the passion that filled our souls. It was but a moment and now gone. Now I know the greatness that was our love and the sorrow that fills my heart at the thought of what might have been leaves me gasping late into the night yearning for your smile to light upon the cold recesses of my heart. My only solace is in the memory of the soft embrace of your arms around my chest that comes with a whisper and a promise that tomorrow will be better because it is shared between you and I. You deserved so much more than I was ever able to fulfill.
Oh, sweet Sarah! Do not mourn me but celebrate our memory. We shared something that no earthly creature may sunder and I will cherish it always for the rare gift of the heart it truly is. Your memory has sustained me through the long days and bitter nights and I have celebrated it with every breath and every tear.
Even though I now have moved beyond your reach whisper my name and I will be there to flit unseen by your side. You will know joy in your life and it fills my heart with some measure of comfort that a new love will be on your horizon. I wish your home filled with the sounds of laughter and the burning passions shared between kindred souls. You deserve to be loved with a passion that will bare the soul and make others weep with the recognition of such perfect harmony.
When you cross over many years from now, having lived a long life and with a full heart – I will be there to embrace you. We will begin anew in the next life where we can live with our passions rekindled and know a lasting peace that has escaped us for now.
My love is yours forever,
Sam Bradford