Mine Enemy

A fictional civil war based short story, based on family.

 

A forest so dark, nothing can ever expect to hear anything, and yet men hope to see. This darkness is of the kind that chokes and kills innocent children. This is a night full of nocturnal beasts and horrid wonders of the world. And in no way do I leave my sworn enemy out of these dangerous categories, for I am fighting my own brothers. And in this darkness I sit, wondering who will fire first?
            For years, men have fought each other. But families have always been held together by love and bandages, never strewn out and forced against each other. I am a citizen of a new time. One man of many forced against his own brother, forced to slaughter his childhood friend for what? Ground? Money?

                The only true thing in this world is friendship, love, and brotherhood. Money waists away in a rich man’s pocket, and is never let into the care of a family man, or an already empty wallet. Ground is too fragile, for it washes away in the rains and disappears behind a gate. Much of it is wasted space, nothing but a price tag. But no one seems to care about things that are worthy of love. They all want power, and power wants them.

                I have been a family man all my life. I grew up in Virginia, where my daddy taught me to love and be loved, need and not want, see and not hear. Now my father is in the ground, my mother with him. When they left us alone, I decided to leave my brothers to the small fortune we had received, and I moved on up to the North, taking only what I needed to survive.

                Eight years later, Virginia seceded and joined the confederacy, and I was drafted. I soon learned that I would be fighting my two brothers, and with that news, I never thought I’d stop loving them, until they shot at me. That day was one so peaceful, I could never see it coming. No one could.

                I was sitting near the giant oak tree, one we all knew as Smokestack (because of it’s dark ashy look) and eating my insufficient lunch. James Woodson sat down by me and started to pick away the maggots from his hardtack. As soon as he thought the cracker was worm-free, he dipped it into his homebrewed coffee, then took a bite. He managed to chew it, with some effort, but then spit it out along with the remnants of a white worm.

                “I hates me this war,” said James. He had been born down south, like me, but only recently joined the North, never having a chance to lose his southern accent.

                “I hate it too,” I said. Then I tried to stand, and realized why I had sat down in the first place. Pain shot into my leg, and welled into a ball of fire in my foot. I sat down again, less gracefully than I would have liked, and found the attention of my friend.

                “’Sees ya gots the rot,” he laughed. Everyone had the rot, except for those lucky enough to be riding horses.

                “I think so.” I pulled on my boot laces and removed my shoe. We weren’t lucky enough to have socks. No, no. Cotton came from slaves, we were here to free them. At least that’s what the big guys say. Anything that encouraged slavery and gave money to our enemy was banned. Anything we did get was cheaply made in our factories. And those things, well, no one wanted.

                So, with some effort holding back involuntary tears, my shoe was removed, revealing a ball of rot. It wasn’t actually a ball, it was a foot. But it was as much use as a ball. My foot was as black as my shoe, tinted green. If it didn’t have use for it, I would have asked the doctors to cut it off, but the General said they didn’t have another horse to spare, so I kept the foot.

                “That’s some foot,” James wasn’t a very consoling guy. He told it as it was.

                “I asked ‘em to chop it off, but the General wouldn’t hear of it.”

                “Never do.” Oh, simple James.

                And that’s when we heard the scout’s bugle. James jumped to his feet, spilling his coffee onto his uniform and pulled me up. I tried to reach for my boot, but he pushed me away.

                “No time! Go for the guns!”

                I would never see him again. But none of that had pushed itself into my mind. My only thought was of survival, and of the jarring pain that swelled into me every time I took a step. The only thing that made it all a little less painful was the cold mud running through my toes. Of course, I knew my foot was cut up pretty badly, but what infection would worsen the rot?

                My rifle was in my tent, thirty yards away, and I could already hear distant shots. Cavalry fire. They’re almost always the first into battle.

                I finally reached my tent and dove in, reaching to the spot where I kept it at all times. It wasn’t there! I dug through the thin blankets and couldn’t find it. All I had to fight in this battle was my knife, safely buckled at my side.

                The front lines were already forming, and I would be considered a deserter if I didn’t show at my post. The line wouldn’t budge as I pushed through the anxious soldiers. Finally, I reached the front, and someone handed me a pistol. I never found the man who prolonged my death, but I loved him like a brother -more than my brothers- at that moment.

                I surged with confidence as I loaded the weapon. Soon I would see their front lines and the fight would be on. My first major fight. My first…

                I heard an explosion from somewhere in the distance and dirt flew into the sky fifty yards to my right. They were shooting cannons at us!

                “They’re close!” yelled someone.

                And as he said that, the first gray-coated b*****d stepped out of the tree line. More soon followed, along with a few cavalrymen.

                “Men! We fight as one!” yelled our own General. “We live as one, we will survive as one!”

                All of the men yelled in reply, and the General rode away, yelling, “fire!”

                Everyone acknowledged with gunfire, aiming at the closest man and then gracing the air with clouds of smoke and explosions of dirt.

                And there I stood, amongst it all, wide open to any sharp eye, and yet I stood strong. With pistol in hand, I watched my brothers die. The people I had trained with and shared food with for the last year were falling at my feet, I powerless to stop it. And then all hell broke loose.

                More gray coated monsters were surging out of the woods and making us their targets. Our front lines were falling, any leftover hope diminishing with every injury. We were never ready for this fight. Cannonballs crashed around us, and sight was limited to five yards. When I saw the Captain leap out front, I knew we were in for a ride. He was about to bring us to our doom, with one hated word.

                He held his sword high in the air and yelled, “Charge!”

                I could hear sighs issue from those living, and then my head filled with bloodthirsty cries. Men rushed past me, a weakening force with each step. Many didn’t even make it to the confederates. Those still charging were forced by the men behind them to crawl over the dead and injured. Some even fell crying when they realized they were walking on friends or family. As for me, I only had family, and they were the enemy. I would never cry for them.

                Amongst the fighting, I formed a plan. It was dangerous and hardly anyone had tried it before, and if it didn’t work, I may end up dead on the field or hung afterward. But I needed to do something. It’s not smart to stand like a rock in the middle of a war.

                I ran to the nearest dead man, not looking at his face, and scooped up his gun. It was empty, so I picked up another, which had one round in it. It takes a highly trained man twenty seconds to reload his gun once. I would have five seconds, but only seven bullets. The rifle was intended for one long shot, the pistol for closer targets, and the bayonet and my knife as stealth weapons.

                My plan was formed. I was to sacrifice myself to crush my enemy’s morale, and hopefully help ours.

                I broke away from the formation, or what was left of it, and ran into the flanking woods. I found a comfortable spot to sit and then waited for the fighting to stop. If we, by some miracle, came out of this with a victory, then my plan would not be needed. But if we lost, I would be ready. And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would need to be ready.

                Darkness consumed my mind and I was sent to a land of death and fire. Hell. I’ve had this dream ever since joining the army. But this time it was different. Usually I would see myself laughing at a tortured man, watching him slowly die and scream in agony. But this time, I was the tortured man, and the one laughing was my brother.

                I woke in a pool of my own sweat, breathing heavily and my heart pounding rapidly within my chest. The rifle was at my side, the pistol buckled to my belt. I shook off the dream and stood, listening to my darkening surroundings. I heard voices coming from the clearing where the fight had taken place.

                I picked up my rifle and slowly walked to the edge of the clearing. There I stood, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimming light and watched as four men walked among the bodies. I could recognize one of them, two with their backs turned to me and the fourth a mystery. The man I knew was hated among Union officials and citizens of the north. He was Robert E. Lee.

                This was my chance at eternal glory. The setting was perfect for my plan to go off without a hitch. So I stepped out of the tree line, enough to see and still be hidden by the darkness of the shadows. I raised my rifle and stared down the barrel. My aim was perfect, but the shot came a moment too late as the fourth man unknowingly stepped into the path of the bullet. The air filled with a loud boom as I pulled the trigger, and less than a second later, the man’s head exploded, covering Lee with blood and bone. The other two men turned as the mystery man hit the ground, and looked at me.

                I had thought myself invisible within the shadows, but obviously I was not. But my visibility was not the only shocking thing. The two men flanking Lee were family. They were my own brothers. I wasn’t sure they knew who I was, but I knew they would shoot no matter what. They hated me for leaving and I left because I hated them.

                And I proved myself correct as they raised their guns. I quickly looked around to find that there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Even if I ran into the woods, they would eventually find me and make my death even more unbearable. So as Jonathan, the eldest brother, pulled the trigger, I dove out of the way and reached for my pistol.

                My left shoulder slammed against the ground, and I felt something crack. Hot waves of pain shot up my arm and swelled into my head. But that wouldn’t stop me from fighting. The youngest brother, James, was turning to meet me as I drew my pistol. Six shots. That was all I had. That was all I would need.

                My aim was flawless, but humans can move.

                I fired twice at James, and he fell, one bullet completely missing him but the second shattering his skull. Jonathan was still reloading, but was almost finished. Two shots missed him as he rolled out of the way. I was down to my last two bullets, and I didn’t plan on waiting them. I turned my focus on Lee, who was just getting over the shock of my attack and who was raising his own weapon.

                I waited until he was about to fire. When the time was right, I let a bullet fly and it skimmed his shoulder, making his gun fly up and his bullet was sent soaring into the air. That gave me some time to take care of Jonathan. Or so I thought, and then my hand exploded.

                Jonathan had disarmed me, and I was unable to fight any longer. My left arm was broken, and my right hand had literally disappeared. As I watched the black cloud that was my future creep into my vision, I saw that both Lee and Jonathan had reloaded and were moving closer.

                Before I knew it, Jon was on top of me. He didn’t even look surprised to see it was me as he bent down to pick up my pistol. He knew it had one shot left. A pistol like that had six shots. I had fired five. He clicked the hammer back, aimed at my head, and let death fly.

Author's Note

just let me know what you think, in general.