For wounded/ Confederate Nurses

He had been hit during the battle, the attack he hadn't even agreed with, hadn't even wanted to go through with but it had been his order and his duty as a soldier was to obey his orders. It hadn't been long into the fight that it had happened and he didn't remember too much about it, just could remember being dragged back from the fight. He had then been brought to the safety of the hospital and the doctors were trying to save his arm. They wanted him to rest....

Longstreet strode slowly into the hospital, trying not to look at the terrible scene around him. Men with their limbs in tatters, great holes in their bodies, he'd seen it so many times before. But he still wasn't able to get used to it. Walking into the makeshift surgeon's tent, he removed his hat. "Sam," he said quietly.

Hood looked at him, vision slightly bleary as he lifted his head and tried to see how it was. "How'd it go Pete?" he asked when he saw it was Longstreet.

"Fine, Sam," Longstreet said, knowing it was a lie.

"Did we take those rocks?" Hood asked.

Longstreet nodded silently.

"Worst ground I'd ever saw. Do you know that?" Hood asked, his voice strained from the pain and the drugs he'd been given.

Longstreet couldn't reply.

Hood continued talking. "They call it Devil's Den, good name for it."

Longstreet nodded again.

Hood held out his good hand towards him. "What causalities?"

Longstreet took Hood's hand in his own. "Don't know yet." He shook his head.

"Got to give my boys credit," Hood said, "You should have let me move around to the right..."

His hand dropped from Longstreets, fell to his side again as his eyes closed. "We should have gone to the right..."

"He needs to rest some," the doctor told Longstreet.

Slowly, Longstreet turned to leave. He stepped outside again, gazing around at his boys laying bloodied and broken on the dirty ground. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, putting his hat back on and turning away.

"You summoned me, sir?" A voice behind him. He turned slowly to see the speaker on a rail fence behind him.

"Harrison. I did. Got some night work. You up to it?"

Harrison swept his hat off with a broad flourish. "'All the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun!'"

Longstreet allowed himself a slight smile. "When this is over, I do look forward to seeing you on the stage."

Harrison jumped down to face Longstreet. "What are the General's wishes?"

Longstreet took him by the arm and led him over to a secluded spot. "I want you to go out on the right and scout the Federal position. Their condition, what they got in reserve and what they're bringing up. Probably take all night, but I want it right, and I want it clear."

"Your obedient servant, General," Harrison said happily.

"Good. Now, Harrison, it'll be dangerous, and I do appreciate this."

"Why, thank you, sir," Harrison said. He paused, frowning. "But I must confess, sir, the thing that bothers me about this job is the... absence of an audience." He shook his head. "When you do it right, no one knows you're doing it. Nobody ever watches you work, you see? That's very hard for an actor."

"Hmm," Longstreet replied. Harrison put his hat back on. "Go on," Longstreet prodded. With a brisk nod, Harrison moved off.

Cullen watched his patient carefully,, unwilling to leave the room while the others spoke to him. It seemed that, no matter how much one watched this, they never got used to it, the blood....the death...everything. And at that moment, he felt no stronger desire than to go home.

It didn't take Hood very long to fall asleep, the drugs helped that, dulled the pain slightly. He fell asleep with his good hand hanging off the side of the bed, his bad one not having moved an inch since it hurt him a lot of move it.

"He looks so...peaceful, when he's resting. Don't you agree, Donnay?" The voice belonged to Maury, who had aproached behind him with catlike silence.

"..They all do, I suppose." He shrugged, keeping his voice down, "I'm just glad that we could do something for the pain."

"Mm."

Hood slept for a few hours before he woke up again. Some the drugs had worn off a bit but the arm was still a bit numb although a little bit painful. He looked at it, his sleeve covered in blood, hoped that the doctors would be able to save it.

Maury, currently on call, looked at him for a moment. "And how are you feeling, sir? Is there anything I can get you?" He put a hand to his forehead to check for fever.

"Do... you have water?" Hood asked, looking up at him.

"Yes, one moment." He said softly before taking a cup and ladling some into it. He then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you want some more painkillers? We need a little pain left so we can tell how you're healing, but we can take a lot of it away, sir."

Hood shook his head. "I don't think all of the last bunch of painkillers you gave me has worn off yet."

He reached for the water with his good arm.

"Alright then." He shrugged, turned to him. "How do you feel otherwise? Emotionally, I mean."

"I'm alright," Hood said, looking at the arm. "Do you think you'll be able to save that?"

Maury sighed. "I'm not altogether sure, sir." He hesitated, "But I want you to rest, you hear?"

"I was just resting," he pointed out.

"Mentally, sir. Don't think about it. Just keep your head high and think of other things."

Hood looked at him. "I want to know if you're going to save the arm."

He was silent. "We won't amputate it, sir."

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