Tear In Time Read Online Free PDF

dying boy beside him. It was all he could
do, and it was enough. Shortly after losing consciousness, the young boy
quietly died beside him, passing beyond the horrific end into peace.
     
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      Dr.
Jeb Morgan paced back and forth by the operating wagon, envisioning the dead
and wounded with each report of the Union cannons. With each crack of a twig or
an unusual sound of the wind, he craned his head to listen more intently,
hoping for any advanced warning of the ambulances delivering their wounded. The
minutes felt like hours as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his
Elgin pocket watch. He pressed the tiny button of the gold timepiece and popped
the cover, exposing the hands of time.
     
      “Huh,
only 10:30,” he said aloud, frustrated at how slow time felt during moments of
anguish.
     
      He
snapped the cover closed and shoved the watch back into his pants pocket once
more. Returned to his pacing, he gazed through the grove of birch trees, trying
to view the battle at his protected location. Barely visible, columns of smoke
and debris could be seen rising off the valley floor. The sight made him wonder
how the Confederates were faring, and if their own surgeon was also nervously
pacing.
     
      It
started as a low clicking sound, barely audible. At first Dr. Morgan thought it
might be cannon echoes reverberating off the mountains, but as the sound
persisted, he recognized the distinctive repetitive sound. It was the hooves
from a team of horses as they trotted. He strained his eyes in the direction of
the sound, but still saw nothing. He spun on his heels and ran toward the
operating wagon.
     
      “Ok,
men; we’re on,” Dr. Morgan called out in a deep authoritative voice. “Fetch my
smock,” he ordered a nearby private, who was sitting on the ground, sunning
himself.
     
      “Yes
sir,” the private quickly responded, hopping to his feet.
     
     
Moments later, the screams of pain could be heard as the driver hauled the
wounded over rocks, logs and uneven ground as he made his way through the birch
forest to the makeshift medical camp. He pulled into the clearing and rolled to
the waiting operating wagon.
     
     
Standing in their clean white smocks stood Dr. Morgan, assistant surgeon George
Fowler, Pvt. Douglas, who had been resting earlier, and Pvt. Cleveland. The
horses came to a halt with the rear of the ambulance just past the operating
wagon. Immediately, Dr. Morgan ran to the wounded and began his assessment.
There were three soldiers lying with their feet toward him. He quickly saw
Corporal Fletcher's leg and the pool of blood that had collected under it. As
he climbed up into the ambulance, the private driving the wagon met him in the
middle.
     
     
Pointing to the young boy of sixteen, he shook his head sadly and moved his
gaze to the private laying at the bottom of the wagon between the two gurneys.
The young private was still conscious and suffering terribly due to a bullet
that had penetrated his leg just below the knee and smashed through the bone,
leaving a gaping wound and shattered fragments embedded into the raw, mangled
flesh.
     
     
Assessing the situation, Dr. Morgan quickly pronounced the young boy dead, and
turned his attention to the two men still living. Feeling Corp. Fletcher had
the gravest injury, he motioned to the two privates to carry him to the
operating table. Immediately, the two lifted the gurney out of the ambulance
and over to the other wagon.
     
      As Dr.
Morgan cut away a portion of the corporal’s pant leg, Asst. George Fowler
prepared the chloroform. Dr. Morgan looked up while cutting and said, abruptly,
“Save it. He's unconscious. I'll have his leg off well before he ever wakes
up.”
     
      Asst.
Fowler stowed the chloroform and replied, “You think he'll ever regain
consciousness after this?”
     
      “I
do.” Dr. Morgan replied simply, then added, “Once I tie off those arteries, I
think he'll be ok; that is, if we