Learning to Fly
Alternate Universe: US Civil War
"You want me to what? Sir?"
Captain Christopher Larabee of the Confederate States Army, and commanding officer of Company 'D', Texas Light Cavalry, gaped at his superior as he stood before the colonel's desk.
"You heard me, Chris." Colonel Abel Brookes smiled at the younger man and handed him the neatly written pages that had arrived at the house, via a fast-riding courier, less than an hour ago. "We're to capture or destroy a Union Army observation balloon, over by Lake Ouachita. By whatever means necessary. Those are the orders."
Chris glanced at the papers briefly, and then sank into the chair that the colonel indicated, and read them through thoroughly. Brookes watched the captain's expression as he read, seeing the faint look of surprise that crossed his face as he saw the name scrawled at the bottom.
"It's that important?" he queried soberly, staring again at the signature of General Robert E. Lee.
"It is. Which is why I want you to handle this assignment."
There was no attempt by Brookes to flatter the captain; he only spoke the truth. Chris Larabee was a hard but fair man and an excellent leader, and he was rapidly gaining a reputation as a raider and strategist that was overshadowed only by that of the 'Grey Ghost' himself, Colonel John Singleton Mosby. In fact, even if Mosby had been available, the colonel would still have chosen Larabee's unit. The men under his command – and an elite group of six, in particular – would follow him to Hell and beyond, if he asked them to. It was that kind of loyalty and trust that was needed to ensure the successful outcome of this crucial mission.
"May I ask why this is so important, Sir?"
Colonel Brookes considered his next words carefully. There had been a separate letter with the assignment orders, a letter addressed to him personally, detailing the reason for the balloon's destruction. It also advised him that the information was on a strictly need to know basis, and that he must use his own discretion to ascertain who needed to know. Chris Larabee could be trusted implicitly, and it might be in his best interests to know the reasons why.
"You may," the colonel decided. "But it'll be easier if I show you."
Opening the desk drawer, Brookes pulled out a leather tube and drew a rolled up sheet of parchment from it. Unrolling the map, he spread it out on the desk, using his inkwell to hold one end, and his order book to hold the other.
Chris stood up and stepped around the desk to stand beside the colonel, and both men studied the map of Arkansas.
"Lake Ouachita." Brookes placed his finger over the blue-inked outline. "Here, on the north-eastern side, there's a spur of land that juts out into the lake. On that spur is a small plantation house. Nothing too grand, but in six days time President Lincoln and some very high-ranking officials from both sides will be meeting there."
"I see."
Chris didn't ask what the meeting was about and, even if he had, Brookes wouldn't have told him. The captain's duty was simply to follow orders.
"Our intelligence reports that several Union batteries are being brought up to attack the place, and they'll be using some of their larger cannons. Much of the area around the lake is densely wooded, too thick to bring any light artillery in, and the access to the spur itself is so narrow that the single company already there, with a battery of Howitzer's in support, could hold it indefinitely. We also have two tin-clads patrolling the lake."
Chris nodded appreciatively. As a meeting place, the estate was virtually impregnable, and the presence of the tin-clads – lighter, more mobile versions of the heavily armoured iron-clad Confederate ships – was an excellent deterrent to an out and out frontal assault.
"So where is the balloon?"
Brookes had anticipated the question; it was this analytical mind, coupled with the ability to see problems and find the solutions, that made Larabee such a valuable tactician.
"Here." His finger stabbed down at the map, on a spot about a quarter of an inch from the lake. "Less than two miles from the estate."
"Far enough away not to worry the company guarding the house but close enough to call the shots for long range firing." Chris was thoughtful. "And those Yankee observers are pretty accurate. They'd be able to pound that place to pieces."
"Now you can see why that balloon must be destroyed." Brookes straightened, and stared the captain in the eye, his face grim. "I can't tell you what the meeting is about, Chris. All I can say is that it may bring this Godforsaken war to a quicker end."
Larabee frowned, his hazel eyes puzzled. "But why would the Yankees want to kill Lincoln?"
"They don't. But the meeting is so secret that not even the Northern army's spies know he'll be there, but they know who will be from our side."
"But – " Chris stopped and shook his head. The politics of war eluded him; he was a fighting man - that was what he knew best.
"Even on his own side, Lincoln has enemies – political enemies – who would see this as a sign of weakness, and use it to try and topple him from power."
"So we have to protect a Yankee President from his own army."
"No. We have to try and protect all these men of vision who are trying to end this senseless waste of life." Brookes saw the quick flush of embarrassment that coloured Larabee's cheeks at his words, and then the captain drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.
"You have my word, Colonel. That balloon will be destroyed!"
"Thank you, Captain Larabee. Take whoever you think is necessary, and draw extra rations from the stores. I've already left instructions for you and your men to have the pick of the horses. Any more questions?"
"No, Sir."
"Very well. You leave at first light. Good luck."
"Colonel." Chris threw his commanding officer a crisp, parade-ground salute, and turned smartly on his heel. As the door closed behind him, Brookes allowed himself the first moment of relaxation since the orders had arrived.
At least now the mission had a better than even chance of success.
The house that the Confederate States Army of Arkansas and North Texas was using as its headquarters had once been a prosperous bloodstock ranch. Situated about five miles west of Prescott, Arkansas, the owners had fled as the rebels had advanced, leaving Brookes to claim the place for his own use. The house itself was large, offering sufficient accommodation for the senior staff, while the sprawling bunkhouse made an extremely adequate junior officers mess. Beyond the three large corral's which held the divisions remounts – only the senior officer's personal 'go-to-town' horses were kept in the stables – serried lines of tents were home to the remainder of the enlisted men and non-coms.
As Chris Larabee stepped out onto the wide veranda that ran along the entire front of the building he sensed, rather than saw, the silent figure lounging in the deepening shadows caused by the late afternoon sun.
"So what trouble are we in now?"
Chris stopped, taking off his hat and running fingers through his dark blond hair, trying to hold back his smile as Company 'D's scout and sharpshooter came to stand at his shoulder.
"None – yet."
Corporal Vin Tanner sighed, and shot his captain a quick sideways glance. The scout was shorter and slighter than Larabee, as well as younger, and his shoulder length hair was definitely not de rigueur according to the Regulation Dress manual. Neither was his fringed buckskin jacket. In fact, the only concessions Vin made to official Army dress were the confederate grey pants he wore, with the yellow cavalry stripe running down the outside seam, and the white Jefferson Davis campaign hat that was perched on his head.
"I knew that courier was going to be trouble," the Texan stated, with a soft drawl. "Coming in with his horse all lathered up like that."
Chris ignored the younger man's comment; he knew Vin was just as curious as he had been, but explanations would have to wait until he had his team assembled. The captain was a man of few words, and he had no intention of repeating more than once the orders he'd just received.
"Find Buck and the others, and meet me out by the dead chestnut. And, Vin – make certain they know it's urgent."
"It's done."
The scout strode off, not even needing to ask who 'the others' were, and Chris made no attempt to correct his lack of protocol. Only Vin and one other person were allowed to overlook the privilege of rank with impunity; one because he had known Chris for too many years to call him 'Sir' unless it was absolutely necessary, and the other – the man now walking towards the junior officers mess – because that was just his way. On the parade-ground, and in front of anybody ranked higher than a captain, Vin and Buck Wilmington were correct in the extreme, but their friendship with Chris made for a more relaxed, efficient, and cohesive fighting unit, and Larabee wasn't about to change that for the sake of a salute, and a 'Yes, Sir'!
The captain collected his big black gelding, fastened to the rail in front of the porch, and swung into the saddle. As he turned the animal's head towards the millpond, and the lightning struck chestnut tree beyond, he was already thinking about the mission, and the best way to handle the situation.
+ + + + + + +
Captain Larabee and his six-man team rode out just after sun-up, almost before anyone else was up and about. As Colonel Brookes had expected when he handed the assignment to Chris, the small force consisted of Larabee, Vin Tanner, Lieutenant Ezra Standish, Sergeant Buck Wilmington, Corporals Jackson and Sanchez, and Private JD Dunne.
Despite his early misgivings, it had never ceased to amaze the colonel how a bunch of such seemingly ill-matched men could work so well together. It said much for Chris' strength of will and determination that he had managed to keep the unit together against all odds. He had had to fight hardest to convince the C.S.A., and Company 'D' in particular, that Nathan Jackson was a worthy addition to the unit.
A freed slave, Nathan had proven his worth both in battle and as a healer. He had an uncanny knack of collecting and storing little snippets of information about the treatment of battlefield wounds and injuries, and more than one man in the Company had cause to thank him. Now, every one of the hard-riding, hard-fighting men of Company 'D' were willing to defend Nathan to the hilt against the civilians and bigots who condemned the regiment for having a black man amongst them.
"Where're we going, Sarge?"
JD curbed his skittish mount as he rode alongside Buck Wilmington, his bugle bouncing at his hip. The youngest of the seven, Private Dunne still found the prospect of battle exciting and, although he had only ridden on a few 'special' missions with them so far, he had come to be looked upon as a kind of talisman. As Buck put it – 'every time JD's with us we win, and no-one's been killed!'. However, that wasn't the only reason Chris Larabee included him in the group; JD might be young and excitable, but under fire he had a cool head, and could be relied upon to think quickly.
"Just following the Captain for now," Buck replied. Only he and Vin knew the exact details of the assignment; should the unthinkable happen, and one of the group were captured by the Yankees, then the fewer people who knew the better.
"It must be something real special," JD continued, patting the neck of the spirited bright bay gelding he rode. "We sure got the pick of the remounts and extra rations!"
"The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast."
The comment came from Josiah Sanchez, riding a little way behind them, but Buck and JD ignored it. They were used to the ex-preacher's little sayings, much as they were used to the convoluted, and sometimes indecipherable, conversations of Lieutenant Ezra Standish.
"I've never seen a balloon before." JD tugged on the lead rope of the packhorse, forcing it to keep pace with his bay.
"Kid – shut up!" Buck glanced at the young soldier, his grin taking the sting out of his words.
"Sorry, Buck. I was just speculating."
"Yeah? Well, leave that to Lieutenant Standish. It's what he does best."
Nightfall found the seven men about fifteen miles south of their objective on Lake Ouachita, at the edge of the forest surrounding the water. The group had covered almost thirty miles that day, a testament to the fitness and stamina of both horses and men. At one point they had had to lay low to avoid a Union patrol, but they had pushed their mounts hard after that, making several stops to water the animals and feed them a measure of the precious grain they carried on the packhorse.
Chris held up his hand and called a final halt just north of DeGray Lake. As JD and Buck set up a picket line, Josiah collected wood for a small fire, while Nathan unpacked their supplies. After each man had tended to his horse, the weary and saddle-sore soldiers sat around the campfire with coffee and steaks from a pronghorn deer that Vin had killed earlier in the day, waiting for their captain to tell them what the next move would be.
"Alright, you know what we're here to do." Chris put down his coffee cup and picked up a twig, starting to draw a map in the dirt at his feet. "This is the lake – " He traced a rough oval. " – and this is where we've got to be." He marked a cross at the top right-hand corner of the oval. "We've got about… how far do you reckon, Vin?"
"About ten miles or so before we cross the Ouachita River, and then a couple more from there," the scout supplied.
"Fine. Now we know it's gonna be more difficult from then on. The Yankee's'll be on this section like bees round a honey-pot, so we'll need to be extra careful." He glanced at each of them in turn, seeing the determined expressions on their faces. "We'll move out at daybreak, and rest up just the other side of the river." He turned to the man sitting at his right. "Ezra, you'll remain there with JD and Nathan. We may need you to cover our backs."
"A prudent move, captain," the lieutenant replied. "Should you find yourself in unexpected difficulties, we will be able to extricate you with the minimum of fuss."
"Thank you, lieutenant. I couldn't have put it better myself. Now, I suggest we all get some rest." Chris turned to the Texan. "Vin – you've got first watch. Buck can spell you in two hours. The rest of you will take your turns through the night. Goodnight, gentlemen."
Larabee stood up as Buck extinguished the fire, and he shook his bedroll out just in front of the picket line.
"You might wanna use your waterproof, captain," Vin commented as he picked up his sawn off Winchester and got ready to patrol the camp. "I reckon we'll have some rain before morning."
"Thanks." Chris shook out his groundsheet, and moved his bed a little closer to the shelter of a spreading chestnut tree. He heard Ezra's murmur of disgust at Vin's words and smiled. A man who liked his creature comforts, Lieutenant Standish would be about as happy as a tromped on rattlesnake in the morning if the scout's prediction proved to be correct.
+ + + + + + +
"Alright – I'm open to suggestions."
The comment from Chris Larabee was pitched low so it only carried to the three men who crouched with him in the shelter of the dense undergrowth, and was made as they surveyed the Union Army camp.
Vin's forecast of rain the previous night had proven to be accurate; it had drizzled steadily through the day as well, and the Confederate captain was hoping that the inclement weather would work to their advantage. Knowing how miserable the cold and the rain made the ordinary soldier feel, he was hoping that any sentries posted around the camp would be less than vigilant as they made their rounds.
The seven-man unit had crossed the Ouachita at mid-afternoon, and spent the remainder of the day in concealment, resting and caring for their horses, checking for any loose shoes or damage to the tack. The rain had finally stopped by early evening but, unable to risk a fire this close to the enemy, they had used some of their rations of hardtack and biscuits for supper.
As dusk settled around them, Chris had opened the mysterious parcel that was strapped to the packhorse, and revealed four Union blue uniforms. He held a jacket up, peered at the breadth of the shoulders, and then handed it to Josiah.
"I guess that's about your size," he stated, as the corporal took it from him. Keeping back the one he had already tried on, Chris handed the others to Buck and Vin.
"Put 'em on," he ordered. "We may's well look like Yankee's if we're gonna raid their camp!"
"Where'd you get these?" Buck asked as he shrugged into the uniform.
"Call them an acquisition of war," the captain replied, giving Ezra a swift glance. The lieutenant smiled; Chris had never asked him where he had obtained the uniforms, and Ezra had never volunteered the information. Suffice it to say, there were many things that Lieutenant Standish could 'acquire' that his commanding officer would rather not ask too closely about!
"Hey, Chris – I outrank you!" Buck pointed in glee at the single braid on his sleeve that indicated a lieutenant. Larabee made no comment as he pulled on the jacket of a corporal, but Vin couldn't help passing a remark as he tugged on the blue pants that Chris had handed him.
"That's good," he said. "Cos if we get captured, they'll shoot you first as the ranking officer."
"What?"
Buck glanced at him suspiciously as the scout jammed the blue cavalry kepi on his head. Then realisation hit; if they were caught, whilst dressed in the uniform of the enemy, there would be no prisoner-of-war camp for them. They would almost certainly be shot as spies.
"Alright, I suggest we try and get some rest. Lieutenant Standish – you, Nathan, and JD have the watch tonight."
"Very good, Sir."
Some time later, about two hours before sunup, Chris and the others were ready to move out.
"Is everybody okay?" The captain didn't wait for a reply; leaving Ezra in charge, he led his small team the mile or so towards the Yankee camp on foot. After nearly an hour of squelching through the undergrowth, and with the rain once more making them wet and uncomfortable, they reached their objective, and that was what had had elicited the captain's heartfelt plea for suggestions.
As he had hoped, the deluge was keeping all non-essential personnel huddled within the confines of their tents. Across on the far side the horse lines had been set up, and several sentries, waterproof capes pulled tightly around their shoulders, trudged morosely back and forth.
A line of tents bordered the clearing to their right, several small campfires sputtering and hissing bravely in the downpour, but it was the balloon away to the left that held their attention. It floated gently about six feet above the ground, held by an anchor attached to a stout cable, and with several other guy lines pegged into the earth, an enormous grey globe with a wicker basket suspended underneath.
"I didn't know they was this big!" Vin breathed, the awe apparent even in his whispered comment.
"Well, we're not gonna be able to destroy it on the ground, that's for sure," Chris hissed back, unwilling to admit that even he was surprised by the size. "We'll have the whole damn camp down around our ears if we try."
"Captain, I have an idea." Josiah crawled forward, and pointed towards the ropes holding the balloon down. "If we can cut through the main anchor line and those guy ropes, the balloon will take off on its own. Eventually, the hot air will cool, and it'll come crashing down by itself."
Chris glanced at Josiah; the man always had a wealth of information stored away about the most unlikely subjects, and he had only half listened as the corporal had delighted JD with tales of balloon flying on the journey up from Prescott. What he said seemed to make a lot of sense and, quite frankly, he was fresh out of other options.
"Sounds good to me."
A few moments later Buck melted away into the darkness. Chris allowed him a couple of minutes to get into position before he and Vin made their move. Keeping to the edge of the clearing, avoiding what little light was given off by the campfires, they crept stealthily towards the balloon, silent shadows amidst the rain.
Fortune stayed with them as they reached the basket. Hanging down on the side furthest away from the tents and picket line, was the rope boarding-ladder. Tapping Vin on the shoulder, Chris indicated that he was going to climb inside. He hoped to be able to find some kind of release mechanism for the anchor but, failing that, he would at least be hidden from watchful eyes as he hacked through the stout rope.
Vin nodded in acknowledgement, and pulled his own knife out as Chris cautiously made his way up the ladder, being careful not to disturb the balance too much. Moving through the shadows like a wraith, the scout began to slice the four guy ropes. He had cut the first two at the rear, and was padding softly around to the front, when he felt the basket jerk and tug at its remaining tethers, and the main anchor cable fell away. Chris had completed his task, and the camp was still quiet.
Ten seconds later their luck ran out.
Vin still had one rope to cut through when the flap of one of the tents was flung back, and a dishevelled, bleary-eyed soldier stumbled out. Maybe he had roused to get ready for his watch, or just to answer the call of nature; whatever the reason, he stopped dead in his tracks as he made out the slight figure lurking beyond the circle of firelight. For a brief moment he froze, then his sleep-befuddled brain registered the wildly bobbing balloon.
"Hey – you!" he yelled. "Hold it right there!"
At the sound of his voice the sentries by the horse-line turned, bringing their rifles to bear on the camp, but they weren't sure who was the enemy when all they could see was a blue-clad soldier standing by the observation balloon. However, the man from the tent was under no such doubts.
"Aw, Hell!"
Vin swore as the man came charging towards him, and suddenly Chris was hanging over the side of the basket shouting orders at him.
"Cut that line, and get in!"
As the Texan made a frantic slash at the last rope, everything seemed to happen at once. From the far side of the camp several shots rang out, as one of the sentries decided to open fire at last. Fast taken though they were, and into the darkness, one of the bullets nevertheless found a target. As Chris leaned over to help Vin, he gave a sharp cry of pain, and tumbled back into the bottom of the basket.
"Chris!"
Vin made a frantic leap for the balloon as, with the last tie severed, it started to float gently up into the night sky. Behind him he heard the ringing yell of the Rebel war cry, and the pounding of hooves as Buck scattered the soldiers mounts, making pursuit impossible. As the scout clung desperately to the top edge of the basket he felt fingers close about his ankle, as the Union soldier, thoroughly awake now, made a grab at his leg. The man held on grimly, and Vin could feel his tenuous grip starting to slip, and then another shot rang out, and he was free from the dragging weight. However, the danger wasn't over; as the balloon rose higher in the sky he struggled to get a better purchase on the basket, for to fall now could mean serious injury or even death.
"Hang on, Vin."
"Chris?"
The Texan looked up in surprise and relief as Chris Larabee loomed above him, reaching down to grasp his wrist.
"I've got you. Come on."
Even with the captain's help it took him several minutes to find a crack in the basket to wedge his toes into, and gain a little extra leverage. All the while he could see the pain and exertion etched on Chris' face, and feel the sticky warmth of the blood that ran down the other's arm and dripped onto his own hand, loosening his grip with each passing second. Finally, he managed to hook one leg over the lip, and he heaved himself into the basket, collapsing in the bottom beside his commanding officer.
"That sure is a long way down! I didn't – " Vin stopped, and glanced across at the captain. "Aw, Dammit, Chris."
The older man was slumped against the side of the basket, his eyes closed, and he had his right hand pressed against his shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to stem the flow of blood.
"Sorry, Vin," he murmured, his voice edged with pain. "I don't think I'm gonna be much help at the moment."
"That makes two of us," Vin told him, as he glanced around the balloon to see if there were any supplies they could use. "Cos we're up and away like a white tailed eagle!"
"We've got the balloon?" Chris opened his eyes and gave the scout a look of relief. At least their mission had been successful.
"Well, I reckon it's fairer to say the balloon's got us." Vin frowned and swept wet hair back from his eyes. The rain was beginning to ease a little now, and there were breaks in the cloud as the sun started to rise away to the east, but the air was growing chillier as the balloon rose higher. The basket itself was empty except for two chairs and a small wooden trestle, and Vin pushed the table back into a corner, trying to create a bit of shelter for the wounded captain. "Let's get you under here, and I'll take a look at that shoulder."
With the scout's help, Chris tucked himself under the table. There was barely enough room for them both, but it least it was relatively dry. As the captain leaned back Vin reached out to unfasten his jacket, and Chris bit back a hiss of pain as the Texan pulled the bloody material away from the wound.
"Sorry," he apologised, leaning forward in an attempt to get a better look. Even in the faint light he could make out the entry point of the bullet – high in Chris' shoulder – and see the blood still oozing sluggishly from it.
"Feels like it went right through," Larabee commented, through gritted teeth. Vin eased him forward carefully, and saw that he was right. There was a messy exit wound just above Chris' left collarbone, which was bleeding freely, but the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his shoulder, tearing muscle without touching the bone, so it would heal without too much trouble once it was seen to properly.
"It did." Vin pulled the bandanas from around both his and Chris' neck and, using his teeth, he ripped the first one into strips. Then he tore the second in half. Folding each section into makeshift dressings, he placed one against Chris' shoulder, feeling the captain flinch at the touch.
"Hold that," he said, guiding Chris' hand to the right place. Larabee tipped his head on one side, and regarded the Texan with just the faintest hint of amusement touching his pain-filled expression.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"What?" Vin paused, a confused frown creasing his brow.
"Ordering me about."
The scout grinned as he placed the second pad against his captain's collarbone and bound both dressings tightly in place with the strips of bandana. At least Chris hadn't lost his sense of humour.
"How'd you guess?" He pulled the jacket back around Larabee's quivering shoulders, and studied his pale face anxiously. "Why don't you try and get some rest?"
"What are you gonna do?" Chris asked, before he wearily closed his eyes, content for a brief moment to let someone else take charge.
Vin stood up and peered over the edge of the basket, feeling his stomach give a queasy lurch as the ground dropped away beneath them.
"It'll be daylight soon," he commented. "Maybe I'll be able to tell where we are then."
"And then what?" Chris was under no illusions; Vin knew as much about the intricacies of piloting a balloon as he did – and that was nothing!
"I guess we learn how to fly!"
+ + + + + + +
Ezra was growing impatient. Almost an hour and a half had passed since Captain Larabee and the others had left, and the sky was beginning to lighten now with the pale clutching fingers of dawn. The rain had all but ceased, and Nathan had made a small fire and provided some hot coffee for the three of them. JD was busy getting the horses ready for a quick retreat, should it be needed, but for the moment there was nothing they could do but wait.
"Look! It's the balloon!"
The excited yell from JD startled Ezra, and he cursed as he wiped the spilt coffee from his pants. He stood up, and followed the young man's pointing finger as the balloon soared above the trees to the north.
"Thank you," the lieutenant commented, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "I have not lost my sense of hearing yet." He watched as the balloon showed dark against the brightening morning sky, and then he snapped his fingers impatiently. "Quickly – fetch me Vin's spyglass!"
JD grabbed the scout's precious telescope from its saddle-boot, and handed it to Ezra, who followed the flight of the balloon as it floated across to their left, dipping away to the south-west.
"It would appear that our erstwhile leader has succeeded in his mission." The Southerner grinned at his two companions. "I doubt if the Yankee's will be able to recapture that."
"So what now?"
"Now we wait for the captain and the others to get back," Nathan told the young man as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "Then it'll be back to Prescott."
"Well, the horses are fed and ready," JD informed him, as he sat down beside Nathan and munched on a biscuit. Ezra, however, wasn't quite so relaxed, and he paced up and down the length of the campsite until Nathan grew concerned.
"What's up, lieutenant?" he asked, and the Southerner shrugged and shook his head.
"A feeling," he said, distantly. "A feeling that something is wrong."
"You've been listening too much to Vin!" Nathan chuckled softly. "That boy has way too many weird 'feelings'. It's not natural."
Ezra stopped his pacing, and flashed the healer an unconvincing smile.
"I fear you could be right, Mr. Jackson." He stared into the distance for a moment, and then squatted down before the fire. "Perhaps another cup of coffee would help to alleviate my trepidation."
Less than twenty minutes later, with the fire extinguished, and everything packed and ready to go, there was a crashing from the undergrowth and Buck and Josiah suddenly appeared.
"At last!" Ezra put away the revolver he had automatically drawn and looked beyond them, waiting for the captain and the scout to appear. "I take it we are ready to depart?"
"Not quite," Buck said, breathlessly.
"Where's the captain, and Vin?" Nathan asked, seeing the expressions on the faces of the two men. Buck took a deep breath, and glanced at Josiah.
"They took off in the balloon." The ex-preacher's words fell amongst them with the impact of a basket full of rattlesnakes.
"They what?" Ezra was stunned, and glanced over his shoulder towards the last place he'd seen the balloon before it disappeared below the tree-line.
"What happened?" Nathan asked the first sensible question since the two men had appeared.
Briefly, Josiah filled them in on what had happened. From his vantage point he had had a clear view of the camp, and had seen the action unfold. It was his bullet that had killed the man hanging onto Vin, and he had seen the scout climb safely into the basket, but events were unclear after that. He and Buck had fought their way past the sentries, wounding two more of them, and headed back for their own camp, carefully checking their back trail to make sure they weren't being followed.
"And you think the captain was hit?" Ezra scrubbed at his chin thoughtfully.
"I'm damn near certain of it," Buck told him, his tone emphatic. "But at least Vin's with him."
"We saw the balloon!" JD cut in excitedly. "It went that way!" He pointed behind Ezra's shoulder, and Buck grinned at him.
"Is that so, kid? Josiah?" He turned to the ex-preacher; of all of them only he seemed to have some idea how a balloon worked. "What are their chances?"
Sanchez cocked his head on one side and thought for a moment.
"Well, with nothing to generate more lift the buoyancy will eventually go," he said, and Buck gave him an exasperated glare.
"Now you sound like Ezra! Sorry, lieutenant. What are you saying?"
"As it is, the balloon will probably come down of its own accord." Josiah shrugged. "That's the best we can expect."
"And the worst?" Buck wanted to know.
"Well, if the wind picks up, it could travel for miles and we could lose it altogether."
"You had to ask, didn't you?" Nathan gave the sergeant a pointed look.
"Well, at least we have a starting point, gentlemen." Ezra brandished the telescope he still held in his hand. "I was able to follow the flight of the object for quite some distance." He handed the telescope back to JD and straightened his jacket. "I believe time is of the essence, so let's get ready to ride."
+ + + + + + +
In the balloon, Vin was finally getting used to the dizzying height at which they were travelling. At first, as they were swept along and buffeted by the wind and rain, he had sat nervously in the bottom of the basket beside Chris, making sure the captain wasn't pitched about. This wild flight, high above terra firma, was something he had no control over, and that wasn't a concept he was familiar with. With clouds obscuring the moon, and no way of telling where they were heading, his anxiety had been almost palpable but now, hours later and feeling a little more confident, he was beginning to enjoy the view.
Glancing over the side of the basket as the sun came up, he had studied the tiny objects far below them, objects that he knew were people, and horses, and homes. Several hours ago they had crossed over a large expanse of water which, if his sense of direction was still intact, should have been Lake Ouachita, and they were now floating slowly south-west, and gradually losing height as they went.
"What can you see?"
The scout turned around as Chris Larabee spoke, and he moved carefully away from the edge to drop down beside the captain.
"How're you feeling?" he asked, peeling back the jacket to check for any fresh signs of blood.
"Better," Chris admitted. Despite the cold and his best intentions he had slept for almost five hours and, although his shoulder was now stiff and still very painful, he no longer felt sick and light-headed. "Have we got any water?"
Vin pulled a wry face. "Sorry," he said, tucking the officer's left arm back into the front of his jacket.
Chris nodded in understanding; they had carried only the bare essentials on the raid, and that had meant leaving behind the heavy wooden canteens, along with their sabres, which would have proved to be an encumbrance. Vin had moved the trestle table away when the rain had eventually stopped, and the captain started to push himself to his feet, but the basket lurched and he sank back down quickly.
"Don't make any sudden moves!" the Texan warned. "It changes the direction we go."
Chris looked up at the giant silk globe above them.
"So how do we make it go down?"
"Well, I wasn't really listening to Josiah when he was talking to JD," the scout admitted truthfully. "But I think he said if you toss things over the side it rises."
"And down, Vin?" Chris suggested.
The Texan chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "It's got something to do with this cord here." He sounded a little doubtful as he pointed to a lanyard hanging from the valve mechanism at the mouth of the balloon itself. "But I didn't want to try it while you were asleep."
The captain tried hard to keep the smile from his face; that was another reason why he and Vin got along so well. They were very much alike, and Chris knew he would have hesitated in pulling the cord as well; not for fear of what would happen, but for fear of how the consequences of that action would affect the people he cared about.
"So pull it."
It was an order, but Larabee made it sound like a request, and watched carefully as Vin reached up and pulled gently. Nothing seemed to happen, so the Texan gave it a sharp tug and held on. Neither man was prepared for the sudden stomach-churning drop as air hissed angrily from the balloon, and it rapidly lost height. Vin's face went white as he hung on to the line, releasing more and more of the precious hot air by the second.
"Let go!" Chris yelled, as the balloon spiralled lower. The scout relaxed his grip, but it was too late - the damage was already done. Down and down they went, dropping like a stone until they were barely skimming the treetops.
"Start throwing things out!" the captain ordered, but Vin had already anticipated that. Drawing his knife, he flung himself at the side of the basket and leaned over. Whilst Chris had slept, the scout had made a careful study of the balloon, and had already investigated the numerous bags of sand that hung around the lip of the basket. Now he started to cut them free, hoping to lose enough weight to keep them aloft. Their descent had slowed by the time the last one was released, so he started on the furniture. First one chair, and then the other, went over the side as the basket levelled off.
Disaster struck as he dragged the table towards the edge. A huge chestnut tree, taller than the rest, loomed in front of them, and snagged the balloon as it floated past.
"Vin – look out!"
The deflating silk caught and tore, and the basket was jerked violently to one side. Caught off balance, the scout was hurled against the edge of the basket as it slammed into the tree-trunk.
"Vin!"
Chris scrambled forward and made an ineffectual grab at the Texan as he toppled over the side, his startled cry ringing in the older man's ears. For a brief moment the basket hung suspended from the tattered remains of the balloon then, with an ominous ripping sound, it slid the remaining distance to the ground. The captain was flung heavily forward, crying out as he caught his injured shoulder. Then something solid caught him across the back of the head, and the lights went out, suddenly and completely.
The steady 'drip–drip' of water on his face dragged Chris Larabee slowly back to consciousness. Forcing his eyes open, he cautiously raised his head, groaning aloud as pain throbbed through his skull. He was sprawled on his back halfway out of the basket, which was wedged on its side between two trees, and drops of rainwater were dripping on him from the fronds of bracken just above his head.
He lay where he was for a moment, trying to gather his scattered senses, and then he rolled over onto his side, pushing himself to his knees with his right hand. His shoulder protested sharply with every move he made, and he tucked his left arm into the front of his jacket to ease the pressure. Taking a deep breath as the forest floor swam and blurred alarmingly, he waited until the dizziness had passed, leaving just the pounding throb of a headache.
Glancing around, he realised he had no idea how long he had lain unconscious; it was still daylight, but he couldn't see the position of the sun through the canopy of branches. However, the one thing he needed to do before anything else was to locate Vin. The last thing he remembered seeing before the basket hit the ground were the Texan's flailing arms as he tumbled into space. As he lurched to his feet, clutching at a tree-trunk until the world settled on an even keel once more, he could only pray that his friend had survived the fall.
Stumbling forward, it didn't take him long to find the scout; a splash of dark blue amidst the autumn brown of the forest floor caught his eye and, as he parted the undergrowth, he discovered Vin lying in a still, crumpled heap among a tangle of tree roots. Dropping to his knees, he reached out and placed his hand on the Texan's shoulder.
"Vin? Can you hear me?"
Tanner remained oblivious to his touch and his voice, and the captain sat back on his heels and studied him carefully for a few moments. The scout's jacket was torn and bloody, snagged by the same branches that had caught the balloon, and his left arm was curled awkwardly beneath his body. Chris continued his visual examination, drawing a sharp breath as he caught sight of the blood soaking through the right leg of the Texan's ripped pants. The boughs of the tree may have broken Vin's fall on the way down, but they had inflicted their own damage to his body, and it looked as though he had been impaled on something sharp; there was a deep, messy hole in his calf just above his ankle, and a ragged tear that went almost to his knee. The blue of his pants was dark and sticky with blood, and Chris shook his head in dismay.
"Boots, Vin, boots!" the captain muttered under his breath. He had tried, on numerous occasions, to rid the scout of his moccasins, but to no avail. Cavalry issue Hessian boots would have prevented this injury, and Chris intended to make sure that Vin wore them when they got back.
Shaking his head again, Larabee pulled a wry face; this was not the time to berate the scout for the flouting of Dress regulations. What he needed to do now was to try and tend to Tanner's injuries as best he could, given their circumstances. Gripping his shoulder, he eased him over onto his back, and the Texan groaned but remained unconscious.
"Boy, you sure hit hard," Chris muttered, brushing back the damp hair that covered a nasty looking lump on Vin's left temple. Bruises were already beginning to darken over his eye and down his cheek, and the scout twitched and flinched as the captain's fingers brushed against the swelling. He groaned again, stirring slightly as he started to struggle back to consciousness.
"Ungh!" The blue eyes lazily flickered open, but they were confused and unfocused as he glanced wildly about him. "What… where… ?"
"Easy, Vin. Just lie still."
Chris was worried by the scout's dazed expression and his slurred words, and he suddenly recalled a comment from Nathan about how dangerous head injuries could be. He dropped his hand on the younger man's shoulder, keeping a firm grip as the other tried to struggle up, but his precaution proved to be unnecessary when Vin gave a yelp of pain and sagged back, screwing his eyes shut again as he cradled his left arm to his chest. The captain could see the cuts and abrasions down the back of his hand, and the unnatural angle of his wrist, and he knew something had to be broken. Sitting back, he thought hard.
His options were limited. They were in unknown territory, with no food or water, and dressed in the uniform of the enemy. Their only hope was that Buck and the rest of the unit would find them soon. He frowned suddenly. Were they in unknown territory? Vin had said they were travelling south-west; that was back towards Confederate controlled areas, and certainly no Union patrols had come to investigate the crashing flight of the balloon.
So far, a small voice whispered in his mind.
Well, so far was so good where Chris Larabee was concerned, but in the meantime he had to take care of the badly injured Texan. He sighed heavily; the burden of leadership was never light. Glancing up, he could see the remains of the balloon hanging amongst the branches, about six feet above head height, and an ideal source of bandages. Crossing back to the basket, he scrambled up onto it, pausing to catch his breath as his head started to swim, taking him by surprise. With concern for Vin foremost in his mind, he found himself forgetting about his own injuries until an inappropriate move brought them back to him.
Once the fuzziness had dissipated a little, he climbed shakily to his feet, reached up, and tugged a large section of the torn material free from the clutching branches. Dropping back down, he sat with his head bowed for a long moment, feeling the sweat drying on his forehead and the blood pounding in his temples as he forced back the darkness that clawed at his consciousness. He licked at his dry lips, and cursed the fact that they had been forced to leave their canteens behind. Hunger was something he could cope with, but water was going to be a necessity for both of them before too long.
"Hang on, Vin," he murmured, hoping he still had the strength to help the Texan.
Crawling back to the scout on his hands and knees, he was relieved to find that Tanner was still conscious, although only just. Leaning back against the bole of the tree, he pulled out his knife and used it to rip through the silk until it was in serviceable strips.
"Chris?" The faint voice caught his attention, and he leaned forward as Vin glanced at him, his features strained and pale, and confusion still showing in his eyes. "The balloon…?"
"Yeah, we got it." Chris groped around on the forest floor as he spoke, finding a couple of stout, straight pieces of wood. Placing them in front of him, along with several strips of the balloon silk, he reached out and carefully took hold of Vin's left wrist. The scout gasped and tried to pull away, but the captain held on, easing the younger man's arm down until it was flat against his side.
"It's broken, Vin. I gotta set it." He wasn't sure if the other had understood his words, so he gripped his chin and turned his face towards him. "D'you know what I gotta do?"
The blue eyes studied him for a moment, then Vin flung his right arm up over his eyes and nodded quickly.
"Okay." Chris saw the scout's right hand clench into a tight fist, and he could see the bloody half-moons where the other's fingernails dug into his palm. Taking a deep breath, the captain eased his own arm out of the front of his jacket and grasped Vin's left hand firmly. "This is gonna hurt me as much as it hurts you," he told the other truthfully.
Dropping his right hand over the Texan's elbow he gripped it tightly as he gave the broken wrist a slight twist, and pulled steadily until the bones were eased back into alignment. He heard the scout's sudden choking gasp, and felt him stiffen beneath his hands, and then Vin went completely limp as shock and pain tipped him back into the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness.
Chris breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief; it would make his necessary ministrations that much easier, although he could feel the fire burning in his own shoulder now, and warm blood trickled down his back where he had torn his wound open again. He tried to ignore it for the moment as he picked up the pieces of wood he had selected as a splint, and bound them tightly around the Texan's lower arm. With that done, he turned his attention to the gash down his right leg.
It was still bleeding badly; whatever had caught Vin had ripped open his calf with the ease of a hot blade through butter. As he drew his knife and leaned forward to cut away the remnants of the blue pants, another wave of dizziness swept over him. This time there was no forcing it back as his weakened and abused body made its own demands for respite felt.
The knife slipped from his lax fingers as blackness swooped in on him like a giant bird of prey, and with a soft groan he slumped forward to sprawl face down in an unconscious heap beside the injured Texan.
+ + + + + + +
Unknown to Captain Larabee, the rest of his unit were less than ten miles away, and getting closer by the hour.
Leaving the campsite on the northern banks of the Ouachita River, Ezra had led the other four south-west, heading in the general direction he had seen the balloon drifting through Vin's telescope. As Buck succinctly pointed out, the only good thing about it was the fact that it was moving away from enemy territory.
It was well after midday when the lieutenant called a brief halt to rest the horses and get their bearings. The trees had started to thin a little now, and they were in a large clearing with a small stream tumbling along the western edge.
"What d'you reckon, Ezra?" Buck asked, as he loosened the girth on his brown gelding and led it to the water to drink its fill.
The Southerner raised an eyebrow at his familiarity in front of the others, but he put it down to the sergeant's worry, the very real worry that he could see on all their faces. Josiah had painted an optimistic picture about the balloon slowly losing height, but they all knew it had probably come down by now, and the area was still thickly wooded and fairly inhospitable.
"I don't know, Mr. Wilmington," he replied, slipping the bridle down the neck of his own mount so it could drink. "If my calculations were correct we should have already found them by now."
"You can't be perfect all the time, lieutenant," Buck told him, hearing the recrimination in the other man's tone.
"Maybe not, but this would have been the ideal time to actually get it right."
"Why don't we spread out from here, Sir?" Nathan had overheard their conversation, and put forward his own suggestion. "You said so yourself, we should've found them by now. Maybe they're not that far away. How hard can it be to find a balloon?"
Ezra thought about it for a moment, and then nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said. "But Mr. Dunne will stay here with the horses, and we'll search in pairs."
Fifteen minutes later, with a picket line set up and the animals unsaddled, they were ready to start. Each man carried his bedroll and rations and an extra canteen because, as the healer had pointed out, neither Vin nor the captain had any water and, unless they had been lucky enough to stumble across a stream, thirst was going to be a big problem. Ezra sent Buck with Josiah, whilst he went – unexpectedly – with Nathan, with instructions to meet back at the campsite in two hours. If they weren't back by nightfall, then the others must assume they had found the missing men and would return the next morning.
"I hope Josiah's right," the lieutenant murmured, as he and Nathan moved away from the clearing.
"What's that, lieutenant?" Jackson trailed a few paces behind the Southerner as they trudged through the undergrowth, and he almost missed Ezra's comment as he studied their surroundings.
"I was merely wondering whether Mr. Sanchez's predictions would prove to be correct," Ezra stated, but Nathan knew he was as worried as the rest of them, despite his calm exterior.
"Josiah's usually right," he replied, hoping the Southerner wouldn't turn around and see his crossed fingers.
Ezra didn't reply, and they continued their search in silence. They paused briefly when they heard a rustling amongst the bushes, but it proved to be nothing more than a white-tailed deer trying to get out of their way, and not the Union patrol they had envisaged, and they carried on, feeling a little sheepish.
"What's that?"
Almost three quarters of an hour had passed when Nathan made the comment, and Ezra stopped, his gaze following the dark-skinned man's pointing finger. About fifty yards ahead, through the deepening gloom, a large, pale shape could be seen through the trees, and Ezra shook his head.
"I'm not sure," he said, drawing his revolver as a precaution. They crept stealthily closer, and both men felt a sense of elation when they realised that it was a large wicker basket.
"It's the balloon!" Nathan exclaimed, as he and the lieutenant hurried forward.
"Or what's left of it, at least," Ezra commented as they got close enough to see the damage clearly. The basket was tipped on its side, with several gaping holes poked through the bottom, and the grey silk of the balloon itself hanging in tatters from the branches overhead.
"This doesn't look good," Nathan muttered, as he cautiously followed the lieutenant past the broken basket. Peering inside, the healer noticed several dark patches, and he rubbed his hand across them. "Someone's hurt," he told Ezra, holding up reddened fingers.
"Buck said he thought Chris… the captain had been shot." The Southerner glanced around, seeing no sign of the two men.
"Maybe – but that was more'n twelve hours ago. This is fresh." Nathan wiped his fingers down his pants and followed Ezra as he pushed his way through the undergrowth.
"Spread out a bit," the lieutenant told him. "We'll cover more ground that way. They can't have gone too far from here."
The healer angled away from the other man, until about twenty feet separated them, but he couldn't see any sign of Larabee or Tanner. The dusk was beginning to close in around them and, unless they found some sign soon, the search would have to be called off until the morning.
"Mr. Jackson – I've found them!"
Ezra's shout carried through the trees to him, ahead and to his right, and it sounded concerned. Nathan thrust his gun back in its holster, and forced his way through the dense shrubbery. As he broke into the space surrounding a large tree, he found Ezra on his knees beside the two missing men.
"I fear we are going to need your expertise, Mr. Jackson."
Vin was stretched out on his back, his eyes closed and totally unconscious, and the captain was sprawled beside him, his head just resting against the other's shoulder. Even as Nathan dropped down next to them, Chris was starting to stir, his eyes opening slowly as the healer reached out to carefully move him away from the Texan. Ezra was already ripping away the pants from Vin's calf, exposing the bloody injury for Nathan to check, and Jackson pulled some clean cloth from his medical bag and handed them to the lieutenant.
"Wrap that around his leg while I see to the captain," he ordered curtly, rank and privilege forgotten as he began to assess the injuries of the two men, starting with Larabee.
"It looks as though someone was already trying to do that," Ezra commented, holding up the strips of grey silk.
"Well, they didn't get very far," Nathan replied, and then put out his hand as Larabee tried to push himself up. "Easy, captain. Let's take a look at you." The healer spoke softly as he propped his commanding officer against the tree, slipping off the man's jacket so he could get to his shoulder. Chris winced as the healer removed the gory padding from the bullet wound, but Nathan gave a quick grin as he studied the injury.
"What?" Chris demanded weakly, giving the black man a sideways look.
"You're lucky. The bullet went clean through. You've lost a lot of blood, but it should heal just fine." Nathan unscrewed the cap of his canteen and handed it to Chris, supporting it as the captain took it eagerly. "Here – but don't drink too much."
He allowed him just enough to take the edge off of his thirst, and then took the canteen away. Pulling a small bottle from his medical bag, he unscrewed the lid and poured a few drops into a cup, topping it up with water from the canteen and swirling it around.
"Drink this," he ordered, handing the cup to Chris.
"What is it?" the captain asked him suspiciously.
"Tincture of laudanum," Nathan told him. "I've gotta clean and stitch your wound, and you'll be better off not feeling it."
Chris turned his head away, staring at Ezra as he bent over the scout. "What about Vin?"
"I can only see to one of you at a time. Now drink!"
"Not until you've looked at Vin." There was a determined set to Chris' jaw that Nathan knew all too well. "I think he's hurt bad."
"Alright." The healer sighed; sometimes Chris Larabee could be a real stubborn cuss. "But I'm only doing it 'cos you outrank me!"
As he scrambled across to the stricken scout, he was aware of Larabee's hazel eyes watching his every move. However, after a quick examination, he was inclined to think that Chris was correct. The broken wrist – which Chris had managed to splint before he passed out himself – was only a minor problem, but the messy wound in his leg that was still oozing blood, and the very obvious concussion were another – more serious - matter.
"Has he been unconscious all the time?" he asked Chris as he tilted the Texan's face towards him, and the captain shook his head.
"No – he woke up once, but he didn't seem to know where he was or what was happening."
"Is that significant, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra straightened up, his green eyes troubled as he glanced at the healer.
"It could be. Can you build a fire and put some water on to boil?"
As Ezra hurried away to find some dry tinder, Nathan leaned over the scout and drew the bloodstained material away from his leg. Beneath the encrusted gore and grime, the flesh was red and inflamed, and already showing signs of infection, and it would need to be cleaned properly before he could even think about stitching it.
Taking a deep breath, Nathan began to sort out what he needed from his bag. The captain's shoulder would be fairly simple to deal with, and a peaceful night's sleep would do him a world of good, but he doubted whether Chris would rest easily until he knew Vin was going to be okay.
The way things stood at the moment, it was going to be a long night for all of them.
Nathan Jackson was tired.
With a yawn, he raised his head and looked past the small fire. Beyond the circle of light he could just make out the hunched figure of Ezra. The lieutenant had been keeping watch for a number of hours now, but the healer knew he had dozed off about twenty minutes ago. Not that it mattered; there had been no sight nor sound of the enemy since they had found the two men, and the Southerner needed to get some rest. At first light he was going back to fetch the remainder of the unit, and besides, Nathan himself wasn't going to be able to sleep any time soon. Vin and, to a lesser degree, the captain were making certain of that.
After the healer had assured Chris that the Texan was going to be fine, he had persuaded the captain to drink the laudanum mixture, and then cleaned and stitched his wound once the narcotic had taken effect. However, once Larabee was comfortably wrapped in several blankets and sleeping soundly, Nathan had turned his attention to the scout and discovered that his assurances may have been a little premature.
There was nothing he needed to do to Vin's wrist – Chris had done a good job of straightening and setting that – but the blow to his head, and the injury to his leg were giving him some cause for concern. The swelling above Vin's left eye was bruised and tender, and the healer was worried about the length of time he had been unconscious. There was little he could do to bring him around quicker, and anything he tried might prove to be more dangerous than leaving it to clear by itself. However, the wound in his leg had been left for quite some time before he and Ezra had found them, and had already become badly infected. Nathan had cleaned it as best he could, but he was loath to stitch it until the hot poultices he had been applying had cleared all the poison from the wound.
As the night wore on, Vin became hot and feverish, his restless movements aggravating the broken ribs that Nathan had discovered while he was treating the scratches and gouges across the young Texan's chest. Again the healer poured more water onto the cloth and laid it across Vin's sweat damp forehead, touching his fingers to the flushed cheeks and feeling the unhealthy warmth in his skin. Several times during the night the scout had half-roused, struggling against some unseen foe, but Nathan had calmed him with a few quiet words and a soothing touch. Now he rested fitfully, his breathing laboured and shallow as the fever stole over him, and all Nathan could do was to try and keep him cool and wait for it to break.
His other patient was a little less troublesome; Chris had slept soundly for several hours after his shoulder had been stitched, but he too grew restless as the time slipped by. At one point he sat bolt upright, eyes wide open but unseeing, as he called out a warning to Vin. The healer caught him gently by the shoulders and eased him back down, checking him carefully for any sign of fever, but his skin was cool. It had just been a pain-induced nightmare that had disturbed his slumber.
The healer yawned again, and stretched his arms high above his head to ease the kinks from his shoulders and back; almost an hour had passed since either man had stirred, but now he suddenly became aware that he was being watched.
"Captain – how're you feeling?"
He made the comment as Chris lay there blinking up at him, a frown creasing his forehead as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position.
"Sore," the captain croaked, and coughed painfully. Nathan eased him into a sitting position and handed him the canteen once more, holding it to his lips as he took a long swallow.
"How's that?" he asked as Larabee pushed the container away, and he screwed the lid back on.
"Better," Chris told him truthfully as he leaned back and brought his right hand up to his shoulder. Nathan saw the grimace that flitted across his face as his probing fingers touched a tender spot, and he gave a soft chuckle.
"Can't leave anything alone, can you?" he said, his grin taking the sting out of his words, and Chris guiltily dropped his hand into his lap. "So what happened with the balloon?" Nathan asked as he checked the bandages around the officer's shoulder. "How come it took off with you and Vin inside?"
Larabee sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he replied.
"Yeah? Well, it didn't do either of you much good!"
Chris heard the anger and worry in Nathan's voice and, avoiding the healer's gaze, glanced down at the fretful form of Vin Tanner stretched out beside him.
"How's he doing?" he asked, hazel eyes narrowing in concern as he took in the Texan's sweat-soaked features, and the bandages around his ribs and leg, and Nathan paused briefly before replying.
"I think he's gonna be okay." The healer didn't sound very convincing as he glanced down at the dressing covering the Texan's calf, and he dropped his hand across Vin's brow, his face worried as the scout moaned and turned away from his touch. "If I can just get his temperature down I'll be a lot happier."
"It's his leg, isn't it?" Chris sounded angry. "I'm gonna burn those damn moccasins of his! This wouldn't have happened if he'd been wearing boots!"
Nathan couldn't hide his grin; despite the gravity of the situation he knew the captain's anger was born out of frustration and concern, and he also knew that Vin Tanner would be keeping his moccasins. When it came to Chris Larabee, the scout seemed to be able to persuade him in most matters.
"He's young and tough, Sir. I really do think he'll be alright." The healer sounded a little more hopeful, and the captain shot him a suspicious look.
"You're not just saying that?" he asked trying, and failing, to stifle a huge yawn.
"No – I'm not. His kind's too mean and ornery to die of something as simple as a poisoned leg!" Nathan eyed the captain critically. "Why don't you try to sleep some more? The lieutenant's gonna go – " He broke off as Vin gave a shuddering sigh, dragging quick, painful breaths into his lungs. His lips moved, faint words tumbling from them, and Chris caught the sound of his own name as the scout grew more restless.
"Vin?" Without thinking, Chris shook his shoulder. "Can you hear me?"
The Texan's blue eyes opened a fraction as the older man's voice penetrated the fog filling his brain and he gasped, his expression momentarily panicked as he tried to focus on the Union blue clad figure before him.
"No - no!" he whispered desperately, trying to pull away as he started to mumble his name and rank. Chris looked stunned, and then Nathan suddenly realised what the problem was.
"Dammit, captain! He thinks you're a Yankee!" The healer poked at the other man's uniform, and Chris dragged a blanket around himself, hiding as much of the blue as he could.
"Vin, it's me – Chris!"
He dropped his hand on the scout's shoulder once again, squeezing hard, and this time when Vin turned to look at him recognition flared in his eyes.
"Chris?"
"Yeah, pard. It's me."
Nathan raised an eyebrow in surprise at the diminutive, and at the hint of affection in the captain's voice. He was fully aware of Chris' tragic past, how the death of his wife and son in a Yankee raid had left him lonely and bitter, but now it seemed that someone had managed to prise open that shell a crack and force in a bond of friendship. Chris saw Nathan's curious glance, and shot him a warning glare, then he forced a smile to his face as Vin stared and frowned at him.
"'Kay," the scout murmured softly as his eyes drooped shut once more, and his head lolled to one side as he drifted back to sleep. Larabee watched anxiously as Nathan felt his forehead, and touched his fingers to the base of his throat, a smile of relief on his lips as he pulled a blanket up around the Texan's chin.
"He don't seem so hot now, captain. I think his fever's starting to burn itself out."
Chris closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree. "Thank God," he breathed wearily. There was a tired slump to his shoulders, and the healer reached out to place his hand across the captain's brow. Larabee opened his eyes at the unexpected touch, and gave him a questioning look.
"Just checking," Nathan told him. "At least you've still got no sign of a temperature."
"I'm just tired," Chris stated. "I feel like I could sleep for a week!"
"That'd be the best medicine I could prescribe," the healer told him with a chuckle. "'Cept I know you wouldn't take it!"
"Who – me?" The captain returned the grin, and then yawned again. "Wake me in a weeks time," he said, closing his eyes.
+ + + + + + +
"So – what's it like to fly?"
The eager question came from JD as he kept pace beside a badly limping Vin Tanner. The scout was still leaning heavily on a stick, even though just over a week had passed since the ill-fated balloon trip.
It had taken Captain Larabee's team nearly three days to get back to headquarters, and both he and the Texan had been taken to the chief surgeon on their arrival back at the house. Chris' injuries, although painful and incapacitating, were not life-threatening, and he had been allowed up after a day, and released twenty-four hours after that. He was still under doctor's orders to remain on light duties, and Nathan Jackson was making certain that he did not do anything too strenuous.
Vin, on the other hand, had been confined to bed for three days as he fought against the fever and his injuries. Despite Nathan's care and his precautions, the long ride back had been hard on the young scout, his temperature soaring once more during the rough journey. On one occasion, whilst he was rambling at the height of his delirium, they had been forced by necessity to gag him, as they hid from a column of Union soldiers. When they arrived back at the house, the healer had been very relieved to finally hand him over into the care of someone more experienced.
For the first couple of days, Vin had barely been aware of where he was or what was happening, but then his fever broke once the infection in his leg had been brought under control, and he had been restricted to the infirmary until he was strong enough to stand with the aid of a stick. That had taken him just one more day. The Texan had been a difficult patient, although he had had little choice with the forceful and stern chief surgeon, but eventually even Major Matheson had conceded defeat as the scout became more restless and fretful with his confinement. Against his better judgement, the surgeon had released him long before he really wanted to.
When Tanner finally escaped the major's clutches, still weak and with his leg and ribs heavily bandaged and his left arm resting in a sling, he was relieved to find a familiar face waiting for him. He had had a steady stream of visitors from Company 'D', duties permitting, up to and including Lieutenant Standish, but he was pleased that JD was there to walk with him in the late fall sunshine, the first he had seen for many days. Now, as he limped slowly towards his own quarters at the far end of the bunkhouse, the private's question dragged his thoughts away from Chris Larabee, and why he hadn't been to see him.
"What's it like to fly?" Vin rubbed thoughtfully at his chin as he contemplated his experience. "A little scary at first," he admitted. "But then you get to looking at things differently. Everything seems so small when you look down at it, like a toy. And you can see for miles!"
"When it's not dark and raining. And let's not forget the cold!"
The heartfelt comment came from behind them, and Vin jumped as a hand dropped on his left shoulder. The awed expression was wiped from JD's face, and he spun round as Chris Larabee came up to them. Like Vin, his left arm was in a sling, held immobile until the gunshot wound had a chance to heal properly, and he looked thoughtful as he studied the fading bruises on the Texan's face.
"Yes, Sir. I mean - no, Sir." JD glanced from the scowling captain to a grinning Vin Tanner.
"If a man was supposed to fly, he'd've been born with wings instead of arms," Chris concluded, and Vin laughed out loud, wincing as his healing ribs protested.
"You sound like Josiah!" he stated, his hand pressed against his side, and his comment drew a withering glare from his commanding officer.
"That's a whole heap better than sounding like Ezra."
JD was beginning to look and feel a little uncomfortable; he wasn't used to being involved in the light banter between Vin and the captain, and he began to edge cautiously away from them. Chris noticed this, and he turned to the young private.
"I'm sure you must have things to do," he said, effectively giving the soldier an excuse to leave. "Don't let me keep you."
"Yes, Sir!" The relief in JD's voice as he threw the captain a salute and hurried away, made Vin snort in amusement.
"What?" Chris demanded. The scout glanced at Larabee's bemused face, and laughed again as they reached the door of the bunkhouse.
"You really don't know, do you?" Vin said, giving a weary sigh as he dropped onto the bench beside the door. His leg and chest ached, and his body was trembling with exertion, but he wanted to sit out in the sunshine while he had the chance.
"Know what, Corporal?"
The use of his rank gave Vin clear warning that Chris was getting angry, and that he had pushed his luck just about as far as it was prudent. However, that didn't mean he was about to scuttle away nervously like the private.
"You terrify JD!" he explained. "You've only got to look at that boy the wrong way, and he's ready to turn tail and run!"
Chris tried not to laugh when Vin called JD 'that boy'. The Texan was only a few years older himself, although those years had been hard and formative, and it made him seem a lot more mature. However, the scout was exaggerating slightly, and Chris knew it, but there was still a hint of truth in his comment.
"Well, as long as he's scared of me he'll follow orders – and stay alive!" The captain glanced down at the Texan's smiling face, and he could feel the answering grin tugging at his own lips, but he held it down. "It's just a pity that that fear doesn't work with everybody," he finished pointedly.
That was another of the reasons why he and Vin had become such good friends so quickly; the scout wasn't afraid of him, not even during the dark times when memories of his wife and son turned his mood black. Even Buck was a little wary then, but not Vin. The Texan was silent for a moment and then, as he was wont to do, he suddenly turned the conversation in another direction.
"So, what's been happening? You been busy?" He frowned as he looked up at his friend.
"Hardly." Chris indicated the sling he was wearing as he sat down beside the scout. "Matheson's had me assigned to light duties. Light duties – hah!" There was an edge to Larabee's voice that Vin recognised immediately; it was the suppressed frustration that the captain felt when control was taken away from him. "Nathan's been watching me like a hawk, making sure I don't do anything I'm not supposed to. Hell, I'm surprised he hasn't been following me to the backhouse!"
Vin chuckled.
"I reckon we make a fine pair," he stated, comparing his sling to Chris'. "But at least we got the job done. When's this meeting supposed to take place? Tomorrow? Day after?"
"Two day's ago – only it didn't happen!"
"Two…?" Vin's voice trailed away, and he frowned as he regarded the captain, trying desperately to work out the days and then suddenly realising that the time didn't add up. "But – how?" He paused again and shook his head in confusion.
"You were sick for almost a week. I know – I sat with you for two days," Chris told him. "Don't you remember?"
"Not… exactly." Vin was hesitant as he thought hard. "I remember the balloon hitting a tree, but not much else. Hey – " His blue eyes narrowed, and he stared intently at Chris. "Did you say the meeting didn't happen?"
"That's right." There was a hint of bitterness in the captain's voice, and his face became hard. He could still recall his own sense of anger and frustration when Colonel Brookes had given him the news, the day he was released from the infirmary. "Lincoln called it off at the last minute."
"Dammit to Hell!" Vin swore and pulled a wry face, wincing as he stretched his injured leg out before him.
"Yep. You – we almost got ourselves killed for nothing!"
The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the idiosyncrasies of war and watching as the shadows lengthened across the ground. Suddenly Vin gave a soft laugh.
"What's so funny?" Chris demanded.
The scout shrugged. "Nothing – but at least I got to fly in a balloon!"
"Yeah? Well, next time you wanna try it you can count me out!" The captain was most emphatic as he pushed himself to his feet. "Come on. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."
Vin took the hand that the captain held out, and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, grateful for the support as he tried to ease the stiffness from his cramped leg. As he hobbled along beside Chris, towards the junior officer's mess, he found himself hoping that Josiah would be there.
Despite the accident, and all that had happened to him, he was still keen to find out more about flying.
End