A Soldier's Last Worries

Mindless Bullets

George's foot hit the dew layered grass with his worn, brown boots. The heels dug into the moist soil, the familiar scent of rich earth sending waves of friendly nostalgia through his body. The cold air melted down his lungs and back out again, his exhalation clouding into a frosty puff in front of him. "General? It's time." A soldier tapped his shoulder, the dull heat hitting the scratchy blue material of his uniform, giving him a mild shock. His eyes focused, and returned to the moment about to unfold. "I am aware. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, general. The cannons are set, and the soldiers' have their guns fully loaded."

The soldier's voice was tinted with a mild twang of concern, his pale blue eyes taking in George's slightly hunched frame and tightly set scowl. George straightened his back, and nodded his approval. He trudged forward, the snow's piercing temperature digging slowly through the thinly woven cloth boots into the souls of his feet. "How I regret not purchasing our uniforms' boots in leather."

"The cost would have outweighed the benefits, mon général." A frail, accented voice replied softly. It was Lafayette, his hands by his sides. He looked especially pale in the freezing cold, his cheeks and lips an unnatural shade red. How awfully thin he'd gotten.

"You are right, Lafayette. Just a mindless desire, I meant nothing by it."

"Understandable, mon général. This cold is unbearable."

"Aw, I'm just thankful we got shoes, Misters. Back on the farm, we used to go huntin' barefoot, which didn't do us much good when we stepped on the pebbles n' branches." A boy exclaimed in an almost cheerful manner. His voice rang with country background, a kind of voice that reminded one of rolling fields weighed with crops. George smiled. "Thank you, Coon. I am glad to hear that you are satisfied with your footwear." The dreaded forest was growing closer, a sight a regular passerby would assume it nothing special. But for the continental army, it was the landmark for the blood curdling battle.

They reached the trees, and George subconsciously rested his achingly cold back into the bark of an oak. He closed his eyes for a moment, the peeling bark pressing into his jacket. The cold grew stronger. A fierce wind slapped his exposed face, the sharp edges of air sent electric shocks of pain through his body. He shivered, his pale red nose scrunching up. A palm rested across his forehead, the brief, powerful exchange of temperatures causing momentary pain. His eyes fluttered open, the warmth leaving his eyes to search for the source. He made eye contact with Lafayette, his own eyes drawn back in an unapproving expression. "Hmph. Your forehead should never grow so cold, George." The General felt a flicker of agitation at his words, but a slight burst of giddiness at his addressing him by his first name. "Not much I can do to fix it, my Lafayette."

"Je veux que vous vous reposiez." He whispered, his gaze softening.

"Tu sais que je ne peux pas faire ça." George replied sternly, internally shaming him for such foolish words. Lafayette nodded, and let his eyes fall to the ground. "Get down soldiers, get down!" A harsh voice barked, pulling them out of their small world. Lafayette quickly pulled his hand off George's forehead. Baron Von Steuben walked briskly through the crowd, directing soldiers to their positions. Flashes of dirty and ripped clothing flickered in and out of sight as the soldiers huddled in bushes and climbed into trees. George turned to Lafayette. "It's time."

"Thank you for pointing that out, mon général, I would have never guessed."

George laughed. "You ought to be more respectful to your elders, dear Lafayette."

They shared a sad, small smile, one that might very possibly, be their last.

 "I will miss you, if you go."