Fade To White - Sequel to Fade To Black

Pure Fear

Wesley stuck to Jonah's side like a leech as tall rugged men ,tanned by the sun and wrapped up in bandages, walked by. He'd peer into countless tired eyes that returned his stare, flashing curiosity, before passing by. The camp had been busy all morning after they arrived in Atlanta late last night. He saw muskets getting cleaned and barrels of gunpowder being rolled up to armory tents. The rain had made the ground into muddy soup and Wes couldn't keep up with Jonah's long stride as the thick mud seeped into his shoes and soaked his socks so thoroughly they felt like weights. Jonah was beginning to gain some distance and Wes grabbed onto his coattails making Jonah almost fall back, trying to regain his balance. He had fists clenched ready to throw a punch before he stopped himself from connecting it to Wes' cheek. 

"Careful kid, I almost hit you. What'd you do that for?" He asked. 

"There's so many. " Wes said, eyes wide, as he surveyed the camp that seemed to stretch for miles across the large grassy knoll. There were crowds of white men that were drunk, singing, injured, crying, clutching pictures of their families, loading their guns. It was the calmest chaos Wes had ever seen. Everything was simultaneously happy and sad. Jonah reminded Wes of his father. He was level-headed, and if anything was ever truly bothering him he would never show it. Not to anyone.

"Every man has got his own way to prepare for battle. Some get drunk, some cry, and some think about their whole life passing by." Jonah explained glibly.

"How do you prepare?" Wes asked innocently. 

Having never really though about it, Jonah was quiet for a moment. Finding his words, he gave Wes a reassuring smile, "A little bit of everything, I think." He patted Wes on the head, guiding him through the camp. "Now, this is no place for a child. You'll stay by me until they call for the lines. When that happens, you'll be in our tent, waiting for me to come back. Do you understand? It's important that you understand what I'm telling you." He kneeled down to level with Wes, staring into his dark brown eyes. Wes understood how serious this all was, even if he hadn't experienced anything remotely similar to battle. He'd never been faced with a life or death situation. And for his sake, his sister's, and for his parents- wherever they were- he hoped he never would. 

They reached the tent Jonah had set up early that morning once they had reached camp. They were only a short ride away from the battlefield and the entire camp could hear the heavy clank of the black iron cannons being rolled into one long line of defense. Wes curled up on the cot in a cool spot of the tent as Jonah sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, cleaning off his musket with a rag. As he sat staring at the ceiling, watching sunlight float through the top of the tent in a dusty stream, he thought of home. He thought of the muggy air that made his clothes cling to his clammy skin. Of Wolf and his old stable near the barren sugar fields. Of the long hot days watching his dad work hard to build little houses, their skeletal frames waiting to be finished the next day, and the next. His mother who tended to both him and his sister diligently and with the warmest affection. Of his best friend Jackson Johnson. The boy who taught him everything he knew about the swamp. Sitting there now, with a friendly stranger, in the midst of a war that had nothing yet everything to do with him, he wondered if he'd ever see those people again . . . or if this was the beginning of something new. 

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted with the commotion of men shouting. "They've been spotted! The Grey Coats have been spotted North of camp. Everyone is called to arms! To the battlefield now!" There was the sudden pulse of running men throughout the camp. With wide eyes, Jonah looked at Wes. There was clear fear across his face as his knuckles turned white over the grip of  his gun. 

"This is it kid. Remember what I told you?" Wes shook his head yes. He dared not speak. He made like a statue, stiffly laying on the cot. Jonah got up and paced about the tent, speaking in hushed whispers to himself and wiping beads of sweat that began to form at the neck of his uniform. "Okay. Okay?Okay!" He muttered, looking out of the slit of the tent, watching the ranks of soldiers depart one after the other. As if summoning courage at the last minute, Jonah gave Wes one last smile. "I'll be back." He said, before running, chest out, to the battlefield.