Die Once Live Twice by Lawrence Dorr Read Free Book Online Page B

surprise us!”
    Patrick’s men released their horses and leaped into their saddles. “Stand and fight!” Patrick yelled at retreating men, his sword forward. He fired his pistol with his left hand and swung his sword at rebels with his right. “Fight! Kill these bastards!” Patrick yelled. Men fell around him, but his courage seemed to be a shield for him. By late evening the Union Army had retreated more than one mile to the outskirts of Chancellorsville, but the momentum of the fight was over and both sides settled in for the night. All but Patrick.
    “Horses. I hear horses,” Patrick called to his men in a low voice. Leaping to his feet, Patrick signaled his men to mount their horses in anticipation of battle. In an instant, the regiment’s Colt revolvers were cocked and ready. Once the Confederate scout troops were visible in the moonlight, Patrick motioned with his gun and yelled, “Go!” The startled rebels pulled up and both sides fired their sidearms, to no effect. The rebel leader raised his hand and motioned his troops sharply back toward the Confederate lines.
    “My God, it’s Stonewall Jackson,” Patrick called out. The bearded Confederate leader in the gold-braided forage cap was riding off into the distance, but the face of Stonewall Jackson was well known to soldiers on both sides. This, Patrick suddenly felt, was his chance to be a hero. He would dispatch Jackson and everyone would celebrate his bravery and skill.
    Patrick did not realize that a Confederate scout had remained behind, his mission to cover the retreat. The rebel scout quickly spotted Patrick and rode directly toward the Union officer from behind, drawing his pistol. Patrick heard the horse galloping up on his left side and a musket ball grazed his horse’s neck. He turned to see a long-barreled revolver pointed at him. He leveled his own in return. Just as the rebel fired again, Patrick’s gelding, blood running down its neck, reared up on his hind legs. The Confederate’s ball pierced Patrick’s thigh, hitting the bone. Paused high above the rebel, Patrick fired directly at the man’s left ear. He was dead in an instant.
    Patrick tried to push down on his stirrups to keep his balance, but his leg gave way. He and his horse slammed to the ground, his wounded leg trapped under the horse’s belly, leaving him unable to move. As his horse struggled, Patrick realized it had broken its leg in the fall. Patrick let out a deep-throated scream that pierced the blackness of the night. The sharp pain dragged his consciousness from him.
    Patrick’s men rode up several long minutes later. The sound of their horses’ hooves and the shaking of the ground jolted Patrick back to wakefulness. “Get this horse off me! My leg is broken,” Patrick screamed. One of his troops shot the horse in the head so they could lift it without the animal flailing and further hurting their captain.
    Two men lifted the horse’s shoulder and two lifted the hindquarters to free Patrick. Blood was pooled on the ground around his twisted left leg. The young captain was unable to move.
    “We chased them near to the rebels’ line,” announced one soldier. “They got fired on by their own men! I saw Stonewall Jackson slide off his saddle!”
    “Are you sure?” Patrick asked, listening despite his pain.
    “Yes, sir. It had to be him.”
    “I’ll be damned. Let’s get out of here before they come back after us.”
    As his men loaded him across the saddle of a horse, spots of light flashed in Patrick’s eyes and shots of pain made him lightheaded. He fought to stay alert until he reached a doctor, but he lost his struggle. With his battered leg bouncing against the side of the horse, Patrick would briefly awaken and then pass out again from the pain of broken bones grinding against flesh. It took more than half an hour for the eight men to reach the tent marked by a yellow flag with a green H. Medics in dirty, bloodstained uniforms jerked Patrick off the