Forever Is Not Enough

Fog

1864 - Frederick County, Virginia

Damon kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he and thousands of others from mixed companies marched. It was late at night and he had been walking for four hours straight. He had blisters forming on his heels and his muscles begged him to pause for just a moment, but he kept moving still. He had been static for so long that he was happy to be finally moving. As always, he found himself trying to find balance on the slippery mud the men left behind. The echoes of footsteps rang all around him, but he couldn't see far past the fog.

"Isn't that a bad omen?" Damon wondered out loud.

"What?" Ric replied, his breathing loud.

"The fog."

"What about it?"

"I don't know... the fog... the crows... It's unsettling."

"You should be grateful for the cover," Ric huffed. "The Yanks will never see us coming."

Damon nodded, his eyes returning to the ground, but he was not comforted. They were only marching this late in order to sneak up on their enemies, and that gave them the advantage. Still, he had a feeling and it wasn't a good one.

"You're just nervous about your first fight, kid."

"How long do you think we have to march?"

Ric shrugged, "This is the farthest I've ever gone before. It won't be long, now."

There was too much fog to clearly see what lay in the distance, but if they were drawing near, then the officers would have put them in order. Now, the men walked where they felt comfortable and talked freely if they weren't too tired. "Maybe Elijah knows."

Disobedient to his own burning muscles, Damon picked up his pace in order to catch up with Elijah who rode on a horse far ahead of them. He heard Ric groan, but Damon knew he was following from the sound of his canteen clanking against his belt buckle. Elijah looked elegant on his horse, especially in comparison to the haggard men surrounding him. Even after years of war and hours of endless travel, Elijah held himself with an air of confidence and sophistication. Damon hoped he would look like that at the end of his service, not like these men around him who looked like they were dead long before they actually died. "Elijah."

"Yes?"

"How much longer is it going to be?"

Elijah chuckled, "We'll be getting into formation any time now. Do you think you can make it?"

"Of course. I was just curious."

"I wonder about you sometimes, Salvatore."

"What is there to wonder at?"

"Look around you. You stick out."

Damon frowned. He was just beginning to think he was starting to look like a real soldier. His face was often unshaven and there were bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. He was often sick from the cold and his cheeks were sinking in because there wasn't enough food to go around. He soon stopped wearing his entire uniform because it was too heavy, but everything was covered in dirt, anyway. His hair was even shaggier than usual and often fell in front of his eyes. How could he stick out? He felt sunken in. "What do you mean?"

"Don't take offense, private. I don't mean it like that." There was a moment of silence, and Elijah let out an annoyed sigh. "Boys with names and fathers like yours don't end up among men like these. Your father is well connected, so it's odd that you ended up here."

"Where should I have ended up?"

"I was a messenger when I first came here, thanks to my father."

"Are you saying I should have been a messenger?"

"I'm not saying anything."

"He's saying it's strange because you shouldn't be up on the front lines with the likes of me," Ric grunted.

An awkward silence came over the three men as Damon pondered their words. It had never even occurred to him that his father had any control over where he was. His father couldn't have known either, of course.

Elijah straightened and cleared his throat, "I think it's time to get in formation."

When Damon looked ahead he realized that people were calling back to each other and tightening into their lines. Elijah wasn't looking at them anymore, but ahead. He dug the backs of his heels into his horse's side, and picked up speed, leaving the two men behind. There was no more time to talk. The fog had thickened even more, and Damon tried to remember that that was a good thing. Slowly, all of the footsteps began to fall into the same step and the clamor of a thousand men was the only thing that filled his ears. His heartbeat quickened and he felt a nervousness that was so rare for him before. He felt it when he first arrived at the camp, again when he spent his first night alone, again when he left for this march so many hours ago, and now when the actual battle was pending. For so long, he'd been in the same camp doing the same thing that he had wished for this excitement. Now he wanted nothing of the sort. His eyes shifted from the faces he could partially see around him, hoping he would see the same anxiety on someone else's face. He couldn't even see under the dirt on one man, but the others looked calm. When he thought about it, he realized he was making a conscious effort to look calm too.

Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena.

The words dominated his thoughts, but he paused on the last one. Elena would be asleep by now. She would be warm under the same thick quilts he'd slept under since he was young. There was no doubt she was safe under the protection of her brother and uncle. The thought of her being at peace calmed him.

He held his weapon tighter to his chest and took a deep breath. "All I've done for the past month is drill, and now I don't know what to do."

Ric smacked a hand on his shoulder, falling out of step with the others for a moment. "Shoot when you see blue."