Tear In Time (35 page)

  “Lend
me a hand, general,” Gen. Custer asked, the weight of the horse causing him
pain.

  David
called to another soldier for help as he retrieved his saber. Standing in defense,
he watched as Custer worked his way out from under his horse. Custer stood and
reached for his own saber. Turning to David, he nodded in thanks, then noticed
David's bleeding wound.

  “Gen.
Warner, you're wounded. Is it fatal?” Custer asked in grave tone.

 
“Probably not, but it hurts like hell,” David replied bravely.

 
Seconds later, two more Confederates attacked the two generals. In short order,
the Confederates fell where they stood just moments before. As both generals
searched the field for more attackers, a wave of relief spread through them as
they realized they were looking at mostly blue uniforms.

  “I
believe we are the victors,” Gen. Custer announced proudly.

  David
took a deep breath and replied flatly, “Great. Can we go now? This friggin'
wound is killing me.”

 
David's blasé response brought a smile to both men. Gen. Custer quickly ordered
his men to help David from the field. As they were leaving, Custer stopped them
and spoke.

  “Gen.
Warner, your plan was brilliant. Thank you,” Gen Custer said, supplanting his
ego for modesty.

 
“Thanks for the compliment, but you did most of the fighting. The victory is
yours,” David replied.

 
“Ours,” Custer corrected. “The victory is ours.”

  Both
men smiled in respect, then parted ways.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  Dr.
Morgan nervously kept watch on the window as streams of horses rode into the
front yard. The fate of his friend weighed heavy on his mind. As the ambulances
unloaded more wounded, he strained his eyes for David. His relief that his
friend was not on any of them was quickly replaced with anxiety of the unknown.
Without any word, Dr. Morgan could only guess how he was doing.

  As
darkness fell, wounded men from Gen. Custer's Michigan Calvary began to trickle
in. With each soldier that was carried through the door, Dr. Morgan took
possession and questioned the wounded man of the battles progress. In
disappointment and frustration, Dr. Morgan listened to the men's accounting of
the battle, receiving very little news about David's performance or
whereabouts.

  Dr.
Morgan tried to concentrate on his duties, but his worry began to show in his
work. Realizing his distraction, he finished up his patient and took a small
break outside. Standing in the grass, he stared up at the heavens and asked a
small favor of God.

  “Lord,
we haven't spoken in a while,” Dr. Morgan began, “and I know we usually talk
only when I am in trouble, but this time it is different. I am worried about
the young lad, David. You know, the time traveler?” Dr. Morgan said as if
waiting for a reply. With a moment’s pause, he continued, “Well, as you
probably know, he's trying to get back to his time, and he accepted a very
dangerous post in order to facilitate his return. He is a remarkably stout
young man, but I fear his upbringing has not prepared him for the rigors on the
battlefield. If you would, could you please watch over and protect him from
harm? I'm not a regular Sunday-going church man, but if you could do this, I
promise I would make regular future visits.”

  Dr.
Morgan looked around, ensuring no one was in listening in the distance, then
finished, “Lord, if you're listening, could you give me a sign?”

  Off in
the distance, Dr. Morgan heard the gallop of a fast approaching horse. He
craned his head and listened intently. As the sound grew louder and more
distinct, the rhythmic pattern of pounding hooves confused the old doctor. It
sounded like the galloping pattern of Gen. Negley's horse, but somehow very
different.

  Dr.
Morgan turned toward the sound and squinted. A brilliant full moon radiated
down and lit up the field that approached the farmhouse. Slowly, a shadowy figure
could be detected far off by the edge of the tree line. As the rider
approached, the image became more clear, more distinct. Dr. Morgan’s eyes
watered from his hard squint, and he shook his head to clear his vision.
Refocusing on the approaching rider, he began to make out not one, but two
riders on horseback.

  Within
range now, Dr. Morgan called out, “Who goes there? Identify yourself.”

  There
was no answer from the two men approaching.

  Dr.
Morgan tried once more, this time with more authority. “Identify yourself or be
shot.”

  “Jeb,
is that you, you old coot? For the love of Jesus, don't shoot!” Gen. Negley
replied.

  “Jim?
Jim, is that you?” Dr. Morgan yelled.

 
Nearing the farmhouse, Dr. Morgan could now make out his friend seated high in
the saddle and leaning forward slightly. Squinting hard, he could see a second
rider seated behind the general, leaning forward, resting up against the
general’s back.

  “Jeb,
don't shoot. It's us: David and I. He's been wounded,” Gen. Negley announced in
grave tone.

  “Oh
God, no,” Dr. Morgan said to himself loudly.

 
Instantly, he ran to close the distance between them. Moments later, Gen.
Negley pulled back on his reins and stopped his horse. Even in darkness, Dr.
Morgan could see the desperate stare from his commanding officer.

  “Jeb,
David's been shot. I found him slumped over his horse in an empty field. I fear
the worst,” Gen. Negley informed, his voice filled with emotion.

  “Let's
get him on the table immediately,” Dr. Morgan replied quickly.

  Dr.
Morgan ran hard and fast, leaping up over the first three steps of the entrance
to the farmhouse and dashed inside.

  “You
there: clear this table. I want it washed down and sterilized in thirty
seconds. Is that clear?” Dr. Morgan yelled to the attendants with authority.

  Before
an answer arrived, he dashed outside to help Gen. Negley and two others load
David onto a wooden stretcher. David moaned slightly as he came in and out of consciousness
and Dr. Morgan desperately tried to communicate with him.

 
“David, lad, I have you now. You'll be alright,” Dr. Morgan said as he helped
with the stretcher. “Where are you wounded?” he asked, but there was no
response from David.

  “Looks
like they got him in the side of the belly,” Gen. Negley offered as they
carried David up the porch and into the house.

  They
laid David on the cleaned and sterilized table, removed his shirt and jacket,
then cleansed the still-bleeding wound for inspection.

  “How
long has he been like this?” Dr. Morgan asked of his old friend.

  “I
can't rightly say, Jeb. As I said, I found him in an empty field like this. I
transferred him to my horse and carried him here as fast as I dared,” Gen.
Negley replied.

  “Hmm,
extra weight. So that's why I couldn't detect your horse – changed the stride,”
Dr. Morgan responded. “It appears that the bullet went straight through him. I
don't think that any of his organs were penetrated.”

  Dr.
Morgan checked David's vitals and rolled him up on his side to prepare him for
surgery.

  “He's
in shock from so much blood loss, but I think if I clean out the wound and
inject him with a sterile solution of sugar and salty water, he'll be ok,” Dr.
Morgan deduced. “You there: in my bag is a syringe. Bring me some boiling water
and some sugar and salt – quickly,” he called to an attendant.

 
“Sugar, salt, water and a syringe? Jeb, what in blazes are you planning on
here?” Gen. Negley asked with deep curiosity.

  “I'm
really not quite sure what the mechanics of the treatment are, but I have seen
David use this in the gravest of cases and bring the men back from the reaper’s
grasp,” Dr. Morgan replied, openly unsure of himself.

  “I
just hope you know what you're doing,” Gen. Negley replied.

  “Me
too,” Dr. Morgan responded.

  As Dr.
Morgan worked on David's wound, he placed the syringe into boiling water. 
Cleaning out the wound with a sterile rag and alcohol, he found a nicked artery
that was causing the bleeding. He quickly placed two tiny stitches in it, all
but stopping the blood loss. Moments later, he closed the wound with loose
stitches, anticipating further cleaning that would be needed to prevent
infection. He then applied clean bandages.

  Having
pulled the syringe from the boiling water to cool, he now washed his hands once
more, then created the solution of sterilized water, sugar and salt, drawing
the mixture into the syringe. He cleaned off David's arm with alcohol and injected
his vein with the solution.

  “Well,
there's nothing more I can do for him now except wait,” Dr. Morgan said
anxiously.

  “A
fine job, doctor,” Gen. Negley encouraged. He placed his hand on his old
friend’s shoulder and continued, “He'll be alright. The good Lord is watching
over him.”

  “How
do you know that?” Dr. Morgan replied with a bit of cynicism in his voice.

  Gen.
Negley stared directly into Dr Morgan's eyes and replied, “Because the good
Lord sent you to save him.”

 
Stunned, Dr. Morgan reflected on his prayer for David. Looking slightly aloft,
he  whispered, “Thank you.”

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  As
David's eyes parted slightly, he strained to see the blurred images in front of
him. After several hard blinks, his eyes began to take focus on the two men
that stood by his bedside.

  “Son,
you're awake. How are you feeling?” Dr. Morgan asked, now grinning from ear to
ear.

 
David's eyes were still a bit blurry, but he could now make out Dr. Morgan and
Gen. Negley’s faces.

  He
smiled slightly and replied, “I'm a little tired and really thirsty. Do you
have any water?” His voice sounded a bit hoarse.

 
“Certainly, son,” Dr. Morgan said, as he reached for a pitcher of water and a
tin cup.

  David winced
as he sat up slightly and downed the cup of water instantly. Dr. Morgan
refilled the cup twice more before David's strength failed him. He laid back
down and closed his eyes momentarily, then reopened them.

  “Phew,
boy. I feel like I've been sleeping for a hundred years,” David said.

  “More
like two days, David,” Gen. Negley volunteered.

  “TWO
DAYS?” David exclaimed. “Oh my God!” he said, trying to sit up again. He winced
again, then fell back down.

  “Son,
you should really lay still until your wound heals. I only placed temporary
stitches until I was sure there's no risk of infection,” Dr. Morgan informed.

  “Oh
yeah, my wound. Friggin' Reb shot me. How's it look?” David asked, then spoke
again before the Doctor could answer. “Wait a minute, TWO DAYS? What happened
with the battle? Did the south overrun us? Are we prisoners?” David asked
anxiously.

 
“David, I have something to tell you,” Dr. Morgan started. “We were not
overrun. After you and Gen. Custer won the eastern battle, the men were used to
strengthen our lines along the southern positions. The following day –
yesterday, that is – the Confederates launched a series of ferocious attacks.
In fact, an attack from Gen. George Pickett almost broke through. From what I
understand, that attack saw six thousand casualties alone; at least, that was
the last estimate I heard. Fortunately our lines held and we were able to force
them back. Right now, as I am speaking, General Lee is making a hasty retreat
across the Potomac,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “We
won?” David replied in shock.

  “I'm
afraid so, David. The future will have to overcome,” Dr. Morgan replied,
forgetting Gen. Negley's presence for a moment.

 
“You're afraid so? Jeb, what do you ever mean by that?” Gen. Negley asked,
sounding confused.

  “I'm
sorry, Jim. It was just a long standing theory the lad and I had about the war.
Have no fear, we are happy with the outcome. Isn't that right, David?” Dr.
Morgan said, soothing the general’s curiosity.

  David
realized that he had impacted the future once more. How it would turn out from
here was anyone’s guess. One thing was certain: the north had won the battle
and pushed the Confederates back into the south, preventing Washington D.C.
from destruction and saving the lives of thousands of civilians that were
destined to die, as recorded in the history before David's arrival.

  David
stared into his cup of water and began to smile. He looked at up at Dr. Morgan
and replied, “Well, thank God Custer's still alive.”

  “Alive
indeed, lad,” Gen. Negley said. “He's like a cat with nine lives. He always
lands on his feet.” The general paused, then continued, “Damned fool will
probably live forever.”

  “Hmm,
if that were only true,” David replied cryptically. “Unfortunately, some of us
have lives shorter than forever.”