Independence Day

Part One

The day was chilly and wet with the morning dew. It would be hot later, but right now it was cool. A robin sang, and somewhere, a couple of squirrels argued. The leaves fluttered gently as a soft breeze blew through the trees. A beautiful sunrise lit up the east sky in the warm colors of orange, yellow, pink, and a grand scarlet, brightening the land. He despised unnecessary noise at times like this. But at this moment, there was no one else around. He was alone with his thoughts and would do so for at least another hour.

"Captain?"

Dropping his head, Captain Winfield T. Stockwell sighed in disappointment of the interruption. He knew who was behind him, and he decided to ignore the voice. Stockwell closed his eyes and waited.

"Captain, are you awake?"

Stockwell breathed out deeply, annoyed, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Kauffmann, I'm awake. What do you want?" He stood up and turned around.

Sergeant Berkeley Kauffmann stood in front of Stockwell. "Captain, please don't call me Kauffmann. You make me feel like my father. "

Stockwell almost smiled before he caught himself. "Well, Sergeant, what is it?"

Kauffmann grew impatient. "No, Win. I want you to call me by name like you did before. Dang it, Win, we bloody grew up together. Why must you treat me in this fashion, with such respect?"

Stockwell laughed, his eyes lighting up. "Berkeley, I thought you liked respect."

"Win," Kauffmann complained, grinning, "I'm a bloody Sergeant. You're a Captain. I don't deserve respect yet." His face fell in thinking about what he said.

Stockwell grew serious also. "You're too skittish around the other officers, Berkeley," he patted Kauffmann roughly on the shoulder.  He stretched his arms and legs, rubbed his eyes and rolled his neck around, easing out the tension as he walked around Kauffmann.

Kauffmann shook his head. "That's not why. Well, it's part of the reason, but not the entire whole."

"Then what, pray tell, is this other reason?"

"Win, you know it's because I'm English."

Stockwell crossed his arms. "Berkeley, don't go getting crazy ideas into your head. How many times must I tell you?"

His friend stared at him with his dark, solemn eyes and opened his mouth to speak. Before he was able, a shout came from the camp down the hill. "Oh, Win!" he exclaimed. "I've forgotten why I disturbed you. A man rode into camp a little while ago and asked to see you."

Stockwell frowned, bemused. "Who is it that wants to see me?"

Kauffmann shrugged. "I wasn't present when he introduced himself. I was found afterward and told to fetch you. I don't even know what the man looks like."

"What is the date, Berkeley?"

Kauffmann looked at a paper he kept in his pocket. "The thirtieth of June, Sir, of eighteen hundred and sixty-three."

Hastily, Stockwell grabbed his jacket from the ground and shook the dirt and dew off of it as best he could, remembering the date. Tossing it to Kauffmann, he slipped his boots on quickly and began to walk down to the encampment. Buttoning up his dust-covered shirt as he walked, he suddenly stopped and turned around. Cursing, Stockwell stormed back to where he had been sitting and grabbed his saber and his pistol. Buckling the sword and gun belts to his waist angrily, he continued his way back down the hill. He reached his hand out for his coat.

"Do you believe it to be someone important, Sir?"

Stockwell buttoned his coat and snorted. "Yes, I believe it to be someone of importance. It would have been lovely of you to tell me when you first interrupted my peace." The two entered the encampment. Most of the camp was yet asleep so early in the morning. Kauffmann showed him to the tent. Before entering, Stockwell turned around and pulled down his overcoat. "How do I look?"