Part 3 ~ Weir

[The Sound of the Firing Guns] Twelve different people, twelve different viewpoints. The thing that links them is one battle.

PART 3

Captain Weir kicked at the dust at his feet, spluttering as he breathed it in. Cursing aloud, he swiped an impatient hand across his forehead, smearing grime across his already beaten face, and fixed dark eyes towards the horizon once again when the guns spoke in thunderous voices. 1, 2, 3. A volley, more and more of them crying out as time went on. As time slipped, wasted, away. What the hell were they doing here? What in the hell were they doing here, mincing around idly by their horses when God knew what was happening over that hill?

Weir swore again and continued his viciously fast pacing on the trail he had already trampled firmly into the grass. He was stopped only by his second lieutenant, Winfield Edgerly, daring to approach and put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

‘’Captain �" please stop pacing. You’re putting us all on edge,’’ he remarked carefully. Weir resisted the temptation to rip his arm away.

‘’Why shouldn’t be on edge, lieutenant?’’ he asked irritably, though the captain still summoned enough patience to perch on the edge of a nearby pack. Edgerly noted his right leg jogging incessantly up and down. ‘’Can you not hear that?’’

‘’I hear it. Loud and clear,’’ was the reply, almost melancholy. Weir sighed dramatically and fiercely squeezed the bridge of his nose, forcing his sun-scarred eyes shut. He could taste bile and blood at the back of his mouth, a metallic burning sensation he had spit onto the ground below. Goddamnit, he needed something to do. Another harsh volley made him rise on instinct and anxiety from the pack. A distress signal. It was a distress signal. Edgerly’s eyes followed his, back down the clouded river.

‘’We ought to get down there,’’ the young lieutenant said, quiet enough so only he and the captain heard amongst the crescendo of all fashions around them.

‘’Is that what you think?’’ Weir asked.

‘’That’s what you think too.’’ Edgerly’s voice was low, knowing, orderly. Weir breathed out.

‘’And what do you propose we do when we get down there?’’

Edgerly turned to Weir, eyes searching his superior’s stern and veiled face. ‘’Go get Custer, of course.’’

Weir turned and continued pacing.