Read Online Viva Jacquelina! by L. A. Meyer - Free Book Online

pushes on, or into the tender heart of a young boy who lies down and quietly dies. In the fog of war, no one knows anything.
    I pull both triggers and feel the pistols buck in my hands. Turning, I slide down, my back to the wall, to reload. Pull the white cartridge from my belt, bite the bullet out of the corner, and pour the powder down the barrel. Then spit the bullet down after it and pull the short ramrod from its bracket under the barrel and cram the leaden slug down all snug against the powder. The tiny percussion cap is pressed down on its nipple, and the pistol is loaded and ready.
    As I load my other gun, I look up and down our line—our very thin red line—and see that Montoya has spread his men out on our left flank.
Good man,
I’m thinkin’ . . . Then I see one of ours cry out and fall backward onto the cobblestones to writhe in pain . . . and he is not the only one. Three others lie still and unmoving.
    Who? Oh, God! No, Archie; not Seamus, not—
    â€œSergeant!” roars Allen. “Close up the rank!”
    I turn again to fire my puny pistols, so small in all this mayhem, and see Sergeant Bailey directing men to fill the spots of the fallen.
    The French are much closer now, perhaps only fifty yards away . . . now forty . . . now thirty . . .
    Again, I fire, seeking only to wound, to stop that dread advance, but I know full well that those who press forward seek not to wound but to kill, with shot, shell, or bayonet . . . and in a few minutes, it will be hand to hand, and it will be with those cruel blades.
    A bullet hits the top of the wall next to my face and ricochets off over my shoulder, throwing a shower of gritty dust into my eye.
Yeouch!
    â€œKeep your stupid head down, Jacky!” Richard yells over the din, shoving me below the wall. I rub at my eye to free it of the dirt. “Twentieth Dragoons . . . fix bayonets!” he bellows.
    There is the rattle of metal on metal as, all along the line, Captain Allen’s order is obeyed. Across the field, the sun glints off the French bayonets as well and . . .
    Oh, Lord, it’s gonna get nasty. Soon those cruel barrel-borne knives will be thrust into soft bodies to grate upon bone and life-blood will flow down the bayonets’ blood-gutters to spill upon the ground.
    Twenty yards . . . now ten.
    â€œAnother volley, men!” shouts Allen, standing and leveling his rifle. “Let’s slow the bastards down! Lay on, lads, steady down! Steady now. Give it to ’em . . . Give it—”
    I sense, rather than hear, the bullet that thuds into Richard Allen’s chest.
    â€œDamn. Deuced bother . . . Sorry, Princess.” He gasps and then slumps against me.
    Richard! No!
    But yes, it is true, a much darker stain of crimson creeps across the front of his scarlet coat. His eyes are closed and he knows no more of this battle.
    â€œSergeant! Archie! Tommy!” I cry, wrapping my arms about Richard’s shoulders. “The Captain is down! Come help, boys, oh, please, come help me!”
    But they cannot come, for the battle is too fierce and they must fight on or else all will be lost, all will be wounded, all will be dead.
    I stagger to my feet.
    We’ve got to get out of here, Richard, we do. There’s Isabella there
. . .
If I can get you on her we can get to . 
.
 .
    But we can get to nothing.
    Through all my fear, sorrow, and confusion, I hear the high whistling sound of an incoming shell. Then there is a flash and a scream and I hear and see no more.
    All is the deep darkness and silence of the tomb
. . .

Chapter 7
    There is a great ball of fire in the sky and it burns my slowly opening eyes as I climb back into consciousness.
Oh, God, let me be, please, let me alone, I hurt, I hurt . 
.
 .
    â€œIs she alive, Joachim?” I hear someone above me say.
    â€œ
Sí,
comandante.”
    â€œ
Bueno.
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