The Soldier Time Forgot

Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

Thomas Elliott, that brave soldier who had defended his unit’s retreat over 150 years ago, burst up from his shallow grave, gasping for air. He was desperate to start breathing properly again.

Wait, what had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was being stabbed with a bayonet. How was he alive? This made no sense; he remembered dying at that crossroads. He felt the cold steel running through him as his life had drained from his body. He looked down and saw a dark red stain where the bayonet had pierced his body. Urgently, he unbuttoned his uniform coat to inspect the wound.

He stared in shock at his stomach. It had healed completely​. The only tell that he had been injured at all was the small horizontal scar.

This whole situation was very odd.

He looked around to take in his surroundings. He was in some sort of cave-that much was obvious-but where was he exactly?

Tentatively, he stood on shaky feet, his legs felt like sand. Just how long was he asleep for he couldn't help but wonder. When he finally felt like he wouldn't​ fall on his face he took his first steps in what he could only assume was a long time.

Using the side of the cave for support he exited the cave. It was nighttime making it hard to see very much. As his eyes adjusted and he looked around, he began to notice something that unsettled him. He could tell from the lay of the land that he was still at Gettysburg, but something about it had . . . changed. A lot had, actually. As he looked down into the town, he could now see that it was obviously well-lit.

Where did they find that much oil for that many lamps?

He began to nervously trudge down the hill toward the strangely bright lights.

As he entered the town, he noticed that the lamps weren’t lamps at all. There seemed to be poles sticking out of the ground that were producing light.

How the hell was that even possible?

As he began to cross the road (he clearly remembered it being made of dirt and loose gravel during the battle, not that it was now), he heard a large honking noise, almost like the old regimental bugle. He turned to see two lamps moving steadily towards him at a quick pace. Somehow realising that he didn’t want to stand in the way of this thing, he jumped out of the way.

What the hell is happening? He thought. What was that thing?

“Too much beer, man?” He heard someone say. He turned around to see a very oddly dressed couple looking at him.

“Um . . . I don’t drink, sir.” He responded. The couple laughed at him. Bewildered, Tom continued walking, hearing murmurings from people he passed:

“What is he wearing?”

“The re-enactment isn't for another month.”

“Maybe he just escaped the loony bin.” Then they both​ started to cackle rudely.

Tom ignored them. He’d heard much, much worse from his Lieutenant, a hard-bitten man who once threatened to gut a recruit like a fish. Needless to say, Tom had developed a fear of his Lieutenant.

Soon, he approached a somewhat familiar-looking crossroads. After looking around for any more of those . . . things . . . approaching, he crossed the road, finding a tablet that had been engraved on a stone: