Silver Line of Power

A fiery rain poured over my head at sunrise as the field artillery fired from the other side, sending their led balls hurdling towards us. All I wanted was to get out alive. This dreadful war was the worst thing I had gone through. It was worse than when three of my cousins died the same day of cholera. If only the South would just surrender. They were on the path to defeat, why delay the inevitable and cause more death. They called what we were doing ‘Northern aggression,’ but I had called what they were doing land theft. Jefferson Davis was the one who wanted to break off from the union, but maybe Lincoln could make a few concessions, give the South some of their own land in exchange for every slave and draftee on their side being freed. I had no preference as to which side won, I just hated fighting. I was no cowardly deserter though. I had fought gallantly with my honor and integrity intact.

My only solace during this tumultuous and violent upheaval was with my friend, Samuel. Though he fought for the damned confederacy, I’d taken akin to him anyway. We’d met at a bar close to the border that had managed to stay neutral, allowing soldiers on both sides to drink without the burden of being harassed by bullets. We had decided to sneak out every third night and meet by the old willow behind the tavern. We would talk, smoke, drink and laugh like it was our last night alive. We had both hoped our regiments would not attack the others, the burden of killing each other too great to carry. We exchanged whatever information we had about our camps to assure we kept our distance during the battles.

That night had been the third, and I had gone to meet Samuel.

“Hey, Arthur. How’s your day?” he asked.

“Whiskey, neat. That’s how my day is,” I said.

“Good idea. Two whisky’s, neat,” Samuel said to the bartender.

“There’s an old chess board over there, want to play?” I asked. The bartender put the shots on the table and the smell of the whiskey filled my nose. As I salivated for the drink my mind was filled with good memories.

“Sure,” Samuel said and brought the board and its pieces over.

“How do you play?” I asked.

“No idea,” I said.

“So why did I bring the damned board over?” Samuel said, pounded the table and laughed.

“Well, somebody must know. Why else would the board be here. Might as well learn,” I said.

“I could teach you gentleman,” the bartender said. He walked over and started to place the pieces on the board.

“These are called the pawns. They can move two spaces the first turn, one space after that. They only attack diagonally. These are the knights, they attack in an L shape. There also the only pieces allowed to jump. These are the rooks, they attack sideways and straight. The bishop travels diagonally, like so. The queen has free reign, she can move any number of spaces vertically, horizontally or diagonally. The king can only move one spot at a time, and it’s your job to protect him or the games over,” The bar tender said and set the pieces up in the right spots.

“This should be fun, we finally get to see who wins the war,” he said and laughed.

“Sure,” I said and lit up a cigar. Samuel reached in his pocket and did the same. Then we picked up our shots, clinked our glasses and drank our poison.

Arthur moved his pawn forward, and I moved my knight to his king and knocked it off the board.

“I win,” I said.

“The knights can only jump over other pieces, not too other pieces,” The bartender said.

“It’s alright, we’ll get the hang of it. Two more shots,” Samuel said. We played three more games before we decided to stop.

“I’ve had too many shots at this point to continue. And I’m bored,” I said.

“And you cheated,” Samuel said.

“I wouldn’t know. The rules still confuse me,” I said.

“Now what?” Samuel asked.

“You could play a song,” I suggested. Samuel got up and asked to borrow the bartender’s banjo, then sat back down. He started strumming the banjo and singing.

“My wife yells when I’m in a stupor. She’s a real hooter. She told me too shut up so I shot her in the Cooter. If divorce was legal, I’d boot her. For now, I just say screw her, and that’s my song to do her.”

“That was great, Samuel. Really great,” I said.

“Your turn,” Samuel said and handed me the banjo. I was just drunk enough to sing. I started to strum

“I hate being single. I’ll take Samuels wife and mingle. She no longer gives Samuel a tingle. She can cook and clean for me in this jingle, then I’d no longer be single,” I sang.

“I like your song, but Betsy can’t cook and won’t clean. You can take her,” Samuel said and laughed uproariously.

“Maybe I will,” I said.

“I should at least pretend to fight you for her,” Samuel jested then pretended to throw a punch and miss.

I did the same, even falling out of my chair like a real fight. We laughed and ordered two more shots.

“Did I ever tell you about the girl from Omaha?” I asked.

“Only a million times. But you’re going to tell me again, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said and Samuel smiled.

“I was fourteen, standing at the lake and draining the fluid out of my body and wondering if I had drained anything on the fish. I was alone, the aromatic smell of my mother’s cooking had allured my father inside the house, but I wasn’t hungry. I had finished my business, but before I had time to zip up my pants, the neighbors girl snuck up behind me and had grabbed my man parts, spun me around and gave me a big, wet smooch. She then ran off giggling. I tried to run after her, but I couldn’t keep up,” I said.

“And you never saw her again?” Samuel asked.

“No, sir, I did not. She and her father moved the next week,” I said.

“Well, ain’t that a damn shame. Did I ever tell you about my wife?” Samuel said and smiled. “I hate her, the miserable hag.”

“At least you’re not alone,” I said.

“I’d rather be alone. Her voice sounds like a thousand cats screaming while my schoolteacher scratches her nails across the chalk board. Her face looks like an old man’s unwashed wrinkled underwear. And she smells like a rotten onion,” He said.

“That sounds horrible. Have you tried asking her to take a bath?” I asked.

“Yes. And she refuses just to irritate me. One time, I filled the tub up, dragged her to the bathing room, and threw her in. She then grabbed my shirt and pulled me in with her. Ruined a perfectly suit,” Samuel said.

“I still say it’s better than being lonely,” I said.

“Then please, rid me of this burden,” Samuel said and laughed.

“Can I ask you a potentially controversial question?” I asked. Samuel nodded.

“Do you support the slavery of man?” I asked.

“Well, the bible says it’s ok,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you support it?” I asked again.

“I’ve seen the slaves work the cotton fields. Most of them work harder than me, and the only ones that don’t are the children and babies that can’t. I suppose they deserve a respectable wage. And it’s only the rich that own them anyway, so it’s not like they can’t afford to pay. They’re just being cheap bastards,” Samuel said.

“So why do you fight?” I asked.

“What choice do I have? If I stay and fight, I feel guilty, sure. But like you, if I run, I’m a deserter. They’d hang me for that,” Samuel said.

“That’s a fair point,” I concurred.

“I’ve got a friendlier question. What were you up to before you arrived today?” Samuel asked me.

I had told him all about the fire that had rained down earlier. He said he was glad I hadn’t died. He mentioned that his sergeant said tomorrow he would be attacking a regiment that had the numbers forty three, but didn’t catch the beginning of what his sergeant was saying because it was monotonous and boring. He would attack at six sharp. Why did that number sound familiar? I was too drunk to figure out what this meant.

Something about that number had kept bothering me. I would figure it out tomorrow. Tonight I had drank a little too much and needed rest.

Later that night I had a dream. I woke up screaming and flailing my arms, and two of my fellow soldiers restrained me and kept telling me to breath. I now know why that number sounded familiar. It was the two numbers in my regiment. We were the forty third infantry. I had to get to Samuel somehow.

“What time is it?” I asked. The Sargent took out a watch.

“Five fifty three,” he said.

“No, not enough time. We are going to be attacked in seven minutes,” I shouted.

“And how do you know this?” the Sargent asked.

“I have a source. I’ve been meeting him at the tavern. That’s why I was screaming!” I said.

“I see. And he just… volunteered this information. And you trust him?” the sergeant said.

“Yes. He’s a longtime friend,” I said and the other soldiers were staring at me.

“Well, you heard the man, get your guns ready,” the Sargent said.

“Thank you sir,” I said.

“We’ll talk about this source of yours later,” the Sargent said.

Everyone was ready a minute after six. Lucky for us they were late. Not so lucky for me, because by six fifteen they still weren’t there and the other soldiers were starting to ask questions.

“Sergeant, we have been out here for fifteen minutes now. Look’s like Arthur’s source was wrong or lied” Colin said. He was one of the few soldiers at the camp that I didn’t know very well. He probably wouldn’t have said that if he did know me, because he would know that I’m reliable.

“He didn’t lie. Something else must have happened,” I said.

“Just who is this source of yours? A confederate, I presume. Probably trying to mess with us,” Colin said.

A second later, there was an explosion behind a tree, and it fell over on one of the tents. A few rocks fell from the sky and landed on the Sergeant, knocking him over. He broke his leg and screamed.

I quickly looked around. Nothing. Then I heard trumpets and muskets, one of the led balls just missing my head. I lifted my gun and fired at the first moving thing I saw. Then I thought, what if that’s Samuel. I quickly ran over to the body to see if it was him, narrowly avoiding more led balls on the way.

“Arthur, don’t come any closer…” I heard Samuel say.

“Too late, I’m already here,” I said as my eyes welled up with tears. What had I done?

I slowly walked closer and saw Samuels face turning pale. Then I went cold, shivers went up my spine. Was Samuel really dying, and because of me?

“Aaahhh!” I screamed. As I moved in closer, he was still breathing. “Samuel!” I said, a tear in my eye went dripping down my face. I was too ashamed to tell him it was my bullet that hit him. He had a wife, three boys and a girl back home. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me in.

“Arthur, Arthur! Is that you?” Samuel asked.

“Y-y-yes!” I stuttered.

“Can you do me one last favor? Burry me by the willow. I wrote letters to my family, they know I am going to be buried there if anything happens to me,” Samuel said.

“Sure, you got it buddy,” I said. “Anything for you,” and I patted on the shoulder.

Then his eyes rolled back and his breathing stopped. I started to carry Samuel to the tree until my arms got tired, then I dragged his body the rest of the way. I looked at the big, beautiful Willow and it seemed sad. It’s as if it had sensed that Samuel was dead and was also in mourning.

I waited a few hours for the battle to end. The confederates retreated, and I went back to my camp, now in shambles, and borrowed a shovel. I walked back to Samuels corpse and starting digging like a wild animal, sobbing and hollering the whole time. I tossed Samuel in, covered him in dirt and put a grave marker down.

I walked back to the camp and everyone kept asking me if I was all right.

“I’m fine,” I kept telling them, even though I wasn’t. I couldn’t tell anyone I buried a confederate even if I did feel like talking about it, they might hang me for treason.

Later that night I decided to walk back to the Willow to mourn my friend one last time because my camp had been packing up to leave. Some of the confederates had evaded capture, and we were now worried about reinforcements coming.

When I got there it felt like a bullet hit my arm, then another hit my back. I turned around, shocked, and thought I saw Samuel.

“Impossible,” I muttered and passed out. When I had woke I did not know how much time had passed, but it was still night out. I sat up, expecting to be in pain, but no pain.

“How is this possible?” I asked aloud.

I slowly stood up and saw Samuel. I almost screamed, but he hushed me and told me to be calm.

He put his arm around my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Arthur. You’re with me now!”

“Are we… dead?” I asked. Samuel nodded.

“Did you shoot me?” I asked.

“Yah, I wanted to see you again. And now we’re even,” Samuel said.

“But what about my wife and kids? Who will take care of them?” I asked.

“You’re single, remember?” Samuel asked.

“Oh yah, that’s right. What about your wife and kids?” I asked.

“I hate my wife. I’m going to go haunt her at some point. I’m going to bang some pots and pans, then make them float around the kitchen. Real spooky stuff. Then lots of moaning. She’ll hate it. That’ll teach her. And as far as those little rascals are concerned, I’ll haunt them too. Anytime they misbehave, I’ll jump out and shout BOO!” Samuel said.

“What was this war for, anyway? Why couldn’t we have tried more diplomacy? Now we’re both dead for a cause neither of us wanted to fight for,” I asked.

“The silver lining to this is when this war ends and one side finally takes power, the slaves might be freed and one day everyone might be treated as equals,” Samuel said.

“We can only dream,” I said.

Then, with his arm still around my shoulder, we walked off together into a silver mist.

Copyright © November 6th, 2005 by Alex H. Mittelman. All rights reserved.