8am
Alex' unit had been woken at six. He himself had not slept a wink that night and the men had lined up to receive their orders. The barn they had been billeted at was to become a field hospital and Alex and a few of his comrades had been ordered to protect it in case the French broke through the lines.
"Fuck!" he thought to himself. Once again, a chance for glory had been taken away. Guarding the medics and the wounded wasn't soldiering. He was a soldier and playing nursemaid to the unlucky bastards who did get to fight and were injured fighting for their country was not what he had signed up for.
The battle had begun, not that he could see it; but he could hear it and smell it on the wind. The sound of cannon, both British and French drowned out the sound of muskets and rifles and the wind was blowing the acrid smell of gunpowder back towards his position.
The wounded had started to appear. First slowly but after an hour of the huge French barrage of artillery a steady stream of wounded men began to arrive, Some were walking wounded with minor injuries. One young man had been shot in the arm with a musket ball and it hung useless at his side.
"Poor bastard" Alex said to one of the other guards, "He's gonna lose that arm"
Others were coming in on makeshift stretchers. Blood was dripping onto the ground, mixing with the rain and mud creating a crazy cocktail underfoot. The bearers slipped in the foul smelling morass of mud qnd gore but they kept going, delivering the mangled and mutilated to the caring arms of the surgeons and volunteer carers, priests mostly, who had arrived that morning.
It was excruciating for both Alex and his comrades, watching their fellow soldiers arriving, knowing that for most of them this could be the last journey any of them would ever make.
The noise of the barrage subsided and a new noise could be heard. The cavalry had started their charge and interspersed with the occasional cannon blast was the sound of musket and rifle shot and the distinctive rumble of horses hooves and metal hitting metal as swords were used in close combat.
Alex wanted to rush up to the ridge to see what was happening in the valley below but resisted the temptation. The last time he had done something rash like that was at Vimiero and he was still paying the price of that decision six years later. So he stood, watching the wounded and dying arrive, helping if he could but still alert to any French breakthrough.
One of the surgeons suddenly appeared at his shoulder.
"Private, please we need your help"
"Yes Sir" Alex said and ran with the doctor back into the barn.
What he saw was like a vision from hell. The bodies of the poor souls who had not survived their injuries had been piled ignominiously at one end of the barn where a priest was praying. The screams of the ones still living rang around the barn. Men were crying to God or asking for their mothers or just screaming at the doctors who were doing the best to keep them alive.
"Here Private, quickly" the surgeon said.
'Hold this man down, I need to take his arm."
The man was large and strong and Alex had to use all his weight to keep him still while the surgeon prepared.
"No," the man gasped, "Dont let him take it."
"Too late my friend" Alex said. "Do you want to live?"
The surgeons blade was pushed down with such a force that Alex was sprayed with the mans blood.
The man screamed and immediately passed out.The surgeon threw the arm onto a pile of discarded limbs and sighed.
"Four legs and seven arms. This is carnage."
"This is battle" Alex replied, he looked down at the armless soldier, "Keep him alive."
As he was about to return to his sentry duty outside he spotted a face, a face he had not seen for a while. He was a few years older than he was the last time he saw his old friend.
"Jimmy, Jimmy Smith" he yelled. "Come on Jimmy, its Alex, wale up man."
"Its no use Private" said the surgeon, "There is no hope for this man."
Alex turned to face him.
"This man is a hero of the 95th rifles, please do what you can."
"His injuries are more severe, he will die, there is nothing I can do. I have more men who stand a better chance, they need my help more than this man."
"But he's my friend" Alex cried.
"I'm sorry. You are dismissed."
Taking one last look at Jimmy, Alex bowed his head, said a silent prayer and left. At the door he looked back to see an orderly dumping Jimmy's body onto the growing pile. A tear fell from his eye and he stepped from the barn. As his vision readjusted to the brightness outside he saw more wounded being brought in on a cart. They were dressed in the distinctive green jackets of the 95th.
5 men had been thrown roughly into the cart and a tired looking pony was dragging it slowly towards the barn.
He rushed over and started looking at the faces of the men. When he looked at the third face, he took a step back in shock. He stepped forward again and stared more closely.
"Well aint life a bitch" he said out loud. And then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he choked on his own breath and it was then that the tears came.
But with the tears came a plan.
No comments:
Post a Comment