Smoke. I smell smoke, and not smoke
that was the result of a burnt blackberry pie; real smoke. Gunfire. A sound
that has become familiar to my ears and my natural reflex is to duck. I rise
again and shoot like there’s no tomorrow. That ain’t no joke for a soldier. If
you want me to tell you what I see, well, I don’t see much. Just a whole lot’a
blood and mud. And dead Southern soldiers, of course. I’m a’tellin’ you, them
from the North can sure shoot a bullet.
“Yo, Lil’ Jim!” I look to my left
and see my brother, Jim, looking right at my face. “You ‘right there?”
“You bet I am!” I call back. I try
to make myself sound real confident, so he don’t get distracted and shot in the
head. I don’t know what I’d do if Jim got shot in the head!
He nods, “You keep it up, Lil’ Jim!”
If you is a’wonderin’ why we’re both
called Jim, it’s ‘cause I ain’t really called Jim, my name is Charles. You see,
when I was just a lil’ half-pint, I used to walk ‘round behind Jim and do what
he was a’doing, and everyone started to call me Lil’ Jim. It stuck. Heck, I
nearly even said it was my name applyin’ for this here war.
Now, just cause I’m a’fightin’ for
the South don’t mean that I agree with ‘em. Heck, even Mama don’t agree but she
sent us anyway. Probably ‘cause Gran-pop wanted us to. You see, Jim and I’s
Gran-pop is a rich, real rich. He’s had the same slaves – I mean ‘helpers’ as
he prefers to call ‘em – for thirty-three years! Now, that’s a mighty fine
number! Since Pa died, Mama’s just been a’listenin’ to to anything Gran-pop’s
been a’sayin’! That’s why I’m here at only sixteen; Gran-pop thought it’d be
his last chance to see me in the uniform he wore so proudly.
The sound of a grenade interrupts my
thoughts. It lands just a few feet away from me. Near Jim. But Jim can’t be
dead; he’d have warned me or somethin’. Then I realize: in war, there ain’t no
warning. I get down on my knees and crawl in the mud to where Jim was. There in
a pool o’ blood is my brother, sleepin’.
“Jim, you gotta wake up now,” I say,
but he don’t. “Jim!” I’m a’cryin’ now. My brother ain’t dead! He just ain’t!
For the next few minutes, I forget that I’m a soldier in this damn war, for
this damn reason and I kneel above my brother. My brother.
Suddenly, there is a sharp pain in
ma back, and I fall on top of Jim. I was shot. Most soldiers die proud ‘cause
they were a’fightin’ for what they believe in or their country or something.
But Jim ‘n’ I, we had to die, after killing others, just ‘cause we were
followin’ orders.
