Fire Over Atlanta (11 page)

“No, I can go by myself.” Two tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve, then said, “I’m sorry, Drake. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She walked away, a woeful figure, and silence fell over the circle of soldiers.

When she was out of hearing, Royal said, “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Drake.”

Drake doubled up his fists. “Shut up, or I’ll bust you!” He knew if he hit a sergeant he would be riding the wooden horse again, but he was so upset that he didn’t care.

“You can’t hit a sergeant,” Rosie said. He put himself between Drake and Royal and said over his shoulder, “Sergeant, would you mind leaving for a
minute? I have something to say to Private Bedford.”

Royal must have known instantly what was going to happen. It would be better for Drake to hit a private than a sergeant. Royal said, “All right,” and walked off.

As soon as he was gone, Drake made his own move to leave. But he felt his arm grasped in a steely grip. He was whirled around to face Rosie, whose ordinary lazy manner was gone.

“Now, don’t
you
start on me, Rosie!” Drake said, jerking his arm back.

“I’m not gonna start on you, Drake,” Rosie said. “I’m gonna finish up on you!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m gonna bust your nose, and black your eyes, and pound your gizzard,” Rosie said calmly.

Drake blinked. Rosie was his best friend, and he could not believe what he was hearing. “You’d fight with me over that no-account girl?”

“That no-account girl,” Rosie said, and he paused to unbutton his sleeve and push it up over his elbow, “is worth about a hundred of you.” He carefully rolled up the other sleeve. “You want to take your whippin’ here, or you want to step into the woods?”

Drake Bedford was a renowned fighter. He was strong and tall and quick. He had seen Rosie fight and knew that his friend was strong too, but there was no question in Drake’s mind about how a conflict would come out. Still, he hated to fight Rosie, his only friend. “Butt out of this, Rosie. It’s none of your business.”

“I reckon when a no-account like you insults a lady in public, I’ll just have to make it my business.
Now, get your hands up, Drake, because I am going to commence to stomp the daylights out of you!”

Drake laughed. “You couldn’t whip your grandma!” He put his hands up and advanced. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Rosie, but I’ve got to show you that you can’t run over me.”

He threw a left that caught Rosie on the forehead and hurt his fingers.

Rosie simply reached out, grabbed that arm, and—before Drake could pull back—looped over a tremendous right that hit Drake in the mouth.

It was a disaster! Red stars, and yellow and green also, flashed before Drake’s eyes. He tried to get away, but Rosie held firmly to his wrist. Another blow caught him, this time over his left eye. Pain ran through his head, and he felt blood flowing from his eyebrow. Rosie released his arm, and he staggered backward.

Wiping the blood from his face, he shouted, “I’ll kill you, Rosie!”

“Then just fly right at it!” Rosie growled. His face was set.

Drake managed to slip under his next punch and catch Rosie with a hard right to the neck. It slowed Rosie down not one bit. The lean soldier waded forward, and suddenly, for Drake, the air was full of fist. He gave as many blows as he got, he thought, but there was something invincible about Rosie. Blows struck him in the face, on the chest, in the stomach, and then he realized that he was lying flat on his back.

“Get up, Drake.”

Rosie stood over him, looking down at his skinned knuckles. “Any time you’re ready to go apologize to Charlie, I’m willin’ to stop.”

Drake struggled to his feet. His face ached, and his ribs, yet he knew that he would never give up. He threw himself at Rosie again. The soldiers had made a ring about them, and repeatedly Rosie knocked Drake back into one of them, who would then shove him forward.

For Drake, time seemed to stand still. Finally he was on the ground and discovered that he could not get up. “My—legs won’t work,” he panted. “My blasted legs won’t work. Wait a minute, and I’ll fight you, Rosie …”

Rosie looked down at him. “You and me been friends for a long time, but I don’t need a friend like you, Drake. Any man that would treat a woman like you treated Charlie, no amount of beatin’s gonna help. Because your meanness,” he said evenly, “ain’t on the outside. It’s on the inside! I always knew somethin’ was wrong with you, and now I know that’s it. Don’t ever come at me to speak again, because I’m through with you!”

As Rosie turned around and walked off, rather unsteadily, Drake struggled to a sitting position, then to his feet. His eyes were swelling. One was closed completely. His uniform was torn, his fists were scraped, he could taste blood, and he hurt all over.

But what hurt worst of all was seeing Rosie disappear. Drake looked around and saw no friendship on the faces of his fellow soldiers. They all turned then and walked away from him, leaving him standing alone.

Drake staggered to the pump and washed his face. He looked down at his ripped, dirty uniform and then reeled away from the parade ground. He took the road that led to the woods just outside
Atlanta. Every step jolted his bruised body, and all he could think was,
I got to get away. I can’t stand this anymore!

R
oyal met Rosie heading toward his tent, and one look at his bloodied face told the story. “Did you have it out with Drake?”

“Yes, I did, but I don’t feel good about it.” Rosie stood looking at the ground. “He’s been my best friend for a long time, Royal.”

“I know. It’s hard to fight with a friend.”

“I reckon it is.”

“Where is he now?”

“Headed out somewhere. You better go catch him, Royal. He might desert, and the general would have him shot sure.”

“I think you’re right. Why don’t you clean yourself up? I’m sorry this had to happen.”

Royal broke into a run. Ahead he saw Drake, walking blindly along the line of tents and apparently headed for the woods.

“Drake!” he called out. “Wait a minute!” He caught up with the private and put himself directly in front of him. “Where are you going?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a lot of difference if you get posted as a deserter!” Royal said. “You know what the general would do to you then.”

“He’d have to catch me first!”

“That wouldn’t be too hard to do. Look, we all make mistakes from time to time. We all have to learn how to say we’re sorry.”

“Is that what you want me to do? Come crawlin’ back and say I’m sorry?”

“Not to me. To Charlie.”

Drake hesitated, as though considering doing exactly what Royal was suggesting. But then he shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll write her a letter sometime.”

“Drake, I’m going tell you something else.” Royal waited until Drake’s eyes were fixed on him. “I’ve asked Lori to marry me, and she said that she would. I wanted you to hear it from me, not from somebody else.”

At first Royal thought Drake would throw himself at him, and he stiffened, waiting for the charge.

But the fire in Drake’s eyes died, and he took a deep breath. “Well, that makes you happy, doesn’t it? You beat me out.”

“No, beating you doesn’t make me happy. I know what it’s like to lose something you love. One of us had to get hurt, but I’m not happy about it.”

After a moment Drake said, “All right, you’ve won. You don’t have to stand around crowin’ about it.” He started off again toward the woods.

“Drake, wait a minute—”

“Leave me alone, Royal! Just leave me alone!”

Royal stood uncertainly, watching him go. He could not lay hold on the soldier and bring him back forcefully, and yet he was afraid that Drake would indeed desert. Slowly he turned back to camp, thinking,
If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll send the squad out looking for him
.

Then Royal thought about the look on Drake’s face when he had told him about his engagement to Lori. Aloud he said, “I guess I’d be just as bad if I’d been the one who lost her.”

“We can’t find him anywhere, sarge.”

Royal looked up from where he was working on papers for the lieutenant to see Jay and Walter. It was morning. Drake had not returned, and Royal had sent the entire squad into the woods looking for him.

Walter said, “He didn’t leave no sign that I could see. I don’t know where he’s gotten to.” He bit his lip then. “I guess we were pretty hard on him.”

“He treated that girl pretty bad,” Jay said. “But I wouldn’t want to see him desert. Not but one end to that.”

Walter looked cautiously towards town. “Maybe he cut back and went into town somewhere. Maybe he’s gone over to see Lori again.”

The thought came to Royal that perhaps Jay was right. “That may be,” he said. “I’ll go check there, and the rest of you keep on looking. We’ve got to find him!”

At the time the squad was out searching desperately for him, Drake Bedford was lying flat on his back under a tree. He had wandered through the woods last night, finally coming across a small tavern where he bought several drinks of whiskey. The alcohol, raw and rank, had hit him hard, for he had eaten nothing. Then he’d gone back into the woods in another direction from camp, not knowing where he was. He went to sleep and had awakened this morning with the sun beating down on his face.

His head ached, his face was stiff and sore, and he knew that both eyes were a beautiful shade of purple. He lay still for a long time, and when he did move, his head felt as if a spike had been driven
through it. Grunting with pain, he sat up and rested his back against the tree.

Overhead a pair of birds sang merrily, and Drake looked up and scowled. “Why do you have to be so blasted happy when I’m so miserable?” He had no strength to stand up and had never felt worse in his life. Carefully he wiggled his teeth, for he was certain that Rosie’s mighty blows had knocked some of them loose. All seemed to be intact, however, and he dropped his hands to the ground and closed his eyes. Shame ran through him as he realized how he had behaved.

He began to review what had happened. “It seems like nothin’ right has happened ever since I got in the army,” he muttered. “Now I’ve lost Lori, made all the fellas in the squad hate me, my best friend has beat me up …” He tried to think of happier times.

And a strange thing took place. Drake had gone with Rosie once or twice to the revival meetings held for the soldiers. Now, out of nowhere, the words of one of the chaplains came to him almost as clearly as if spoken aloud.
“It is appointed unto man once to die, but after this the judgment. “

The sentence kept coming back to him again and again. And then he began to grow afraid. This was unusual, for Drake was a courageous man, even in battle. But now, somehow, a greater fear than he had ever known came over him. It was the fear of death.

Looking around, he felt foolish. The grass was green under him, the sky was blue, the trees stretched their branches upward, the birds were singing. There was no danger here. And yet Drake suddenly thought,
What if I should die in the next battle and had to face
God?
He knew the answer to that. He had heard enough preaching to know what happened to those who went out to meet God unprepared.

He saw that his hands were trembling. “I didn’t know anything could make me do that,” he said aloud. “What’s wrong with me?”

Another Scripture came to mind. Again, he could almost hear the chaplain say it.
“Except ye repent, ye will all likewise perish.”
And then immediately another:
“Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. “

Drake had never been one for introspection. He had never thought much about eternity, or God, or judgment, but he thought about them now. And the longer he sat under the tree, the worse it got. In desperation, he struggled to his feet and began to walk, hoping the mood would pass.

It did not pass, though. As he moved on, he found that his fear grew. Finally he looked up and said, “God, what’s happening?”

The heavens were still blue and peaceful, but there was no peace in Drake. At last he lay down in the shade of a towering oak. It was quiet in the glade—no one else was there—yet somehow Drake knew that Someone
was
there. Looking to the sky again, he said, “God, what is it? What’s happening to me?” Then he began to weep, something he had not done since he was a small boy.

“Drake, you’re back!”

Royal leaped up from his cot and ran to grasp Drake’s arm. “Thank God you’ve come back. I was afraid you were going to be posted as a deserter. Where in the world have you been?”

Drake was pale, and there was an odd look about him. “Hello, Royal,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

Royal said quickly, “Here, sit down. You look white as a sheet.” He pushed Drake onto the cot, glad that Ira Pickens, his tent mate, was not there. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right.”

“I thought maybe you got hurt worse than we knew in the fight—and went out and fell down unconscious somewhere,” Royal said. “The whole squad’s been lookin’ all over creation for you. We’ve covered for you, though. Nobody else knows you’ve been gone.”

“Thanks, Royal. It was good of you—and all the other fellas too.”

Royal sat down across from him. “So where have you been?” He studied the soldier’s beaten features and noted that the eyes were clear although the bruises were violently colorful. “We’ve all been worried about you. We can’t let the Devil have one of our own.”

It was a saying that the soldiers often used.

Drake clasped his hands, then put them against his lips. He seemed to be thinking deeply. Then he said, “I guess the Devil almost got me. But he didn’t.”

“What does that mean?” Royal asked in bewilderment.

“It means I got out there all by myself in the woods, and something happened
to me, Royal.” Drake’s voice was subdued. He tried to smile. “Ow, it hurts to smile! My lips are all cut.”

“What have you got to smile about?”

“You’d think not much. I lost my girl, lost my best friend, got beat to pieces—but something happened to me out in those woods, Royal, and I know you’ll be glad to hear it even though we haven’t been friends.”