Brother Against Brother: Short Fiction

Reassuring himself the Enfield was loaded; Seth pointed it at the Confederate. The man remained calm, propped against the remains of the stonewall.

“How old are you, Son?”

“What?”

“You ain’t old enough for fightin’, Son. You should be in school, or fetchin’ for your mother.”

“You shut up!” He tried to be threatening but failed. He was just a scared kid in a war that was supposed to be over.

A Private in Colonel Joshua Chamberlain’s Twentieth Maine Infantry, who were occupying this hill, miles from the main battle, Seth was still amid the horrors. The moans and screams of the wounded and dying added to his mental anguish. Somehow, when they swung down the side of the mound named Little Round Top, he had separated from the main group and stumbled into this depression, and away from the major shooting.

Falling into the hole, Seth landed on a body, which grunted and moved. Terrified, he scrambled around for identity, discovering the powdered blackened face of one of General Hood’s Texans, the very army they were killing. The Texan was unarmed, his Springfield broken beside him and his arm too mangled for bayonet use. Triumphantly, Seth had ‘captured’ an enemy single-handed. This glory soon faded, as he realized he was as trapped as the other was. Where could he go? He didn’t know if they had succeeded.

"Son, you ain’t fighin’ for slavery any more than I am.”

“Ain’t you?”

“Nope,” the Texan replied. “I’m a Texas soldier. That I’m in the Confederate army is just an odd detail.”

“But this is about slavery, ain’t it?” 

The man chuckled. “This war is about Government and politics, neither of which you or I care one whit about.” The Texan waved his good hand. “You let me palaver. You’ve probably heard speeches ‘bout the horrors of slavery, most not even half-told of the evils. There's a man in Washington that made some noise about the evil and it made a large part of this country a bit worried 'bout their rights as slave owners. I don’t own slaves, never have, never will. I’m in this ‘cause Texas said we’d fight and I’m Texas. As for the Cause, the Good Lord above will abolish slavery. He hates it and He won’t allow it, no matter what some may think. I can't agree havin' a war over the trouble is the best way to fix it, but that's the way it's come about. You and me are just a part of something a whole lot bigger." he chuckled. "hate to admit it, but it's even bigger than Texas."

Shifting slightly made his coat open, revealing his bloody chest. A grimace twisted his dirty face. he asked Seth, “Ya got any water?”

Seth tossed his canteen. “You said the Good Lord. You mean Jesus?”

“Born again into Jesus Christ twenty three years ago. Bet I was older’n you are now. How old are you, Son?”

“Sixteen.”

The Texan smiled. “Yup. Was seventeen when I accepted Jesus’ salvation. Have you, Son?”

Seth swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir. Three years now.” In fear, he lifted his rifle as the Texan reached under his coat. For a pistol?

“Whoa, Son, just getting’ my Prayer Book.” He held up a small ragged book bound together with twine. “A’right if I show you somethin’?” The Texan shifted and then settled back. “No need to keep pointin’ that gun. I surrender. I ain’t gonna fight no more ag’in ya.” He settled down next to the boy. “Do you know that right here, in the second letter to Timothy; we have the power to end all wars?”

The sour-sweet smell of the dark, thick, of the Texan's congealed blood rose in his nostrils. Swallowing bile, Seth leaned over and read from the Texan’s Bible. ‘All Scripture is given by the inspiration of God and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works."

He smiled, although through the blood, grime and black powder soot the action made him seem more a ghoul than a man. There was no threat to Seth from the wounded man as he talked.

“An old man named Paul wrote that to a young soldier for Christ. And I’m sharing it with you, ‘cause there’s a place for enemies and there’s a place for killin’, but there’s a place in the hearts of all men for the truth of God. That, Son, if every man believes it, would end all wars. If only all people would turn to God, wars would cease.”

Seth never saw the rock. Lights burst in his head. Aware through a fog, the gun taken from his hands, he lay stunned and helpless.

“Forgive me, Son.”

Incredibly, he saw the sadness in the face of his enemy.

The Texan gazed at him a moment longer before turning to walk into the bullet shattered forest.

Seth thought, ‘Lord Jesus, that man’s not my enemy, he’s my brother.’

The End

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