Blutch's eyes slowly opened. The sudden brightness hurt them and he closed them again quickly with a moan. He gasped when, moving a hand to his face, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his side. His eyes opened wide despite the light as he finally became fully conscious.

He lay panting a moment, just trying to deal with the pain. When it subsided, he realized there was a weight on his arm. Turning his head slightly, he discovered a woman sitting beside him, with her hand placed carefully on his limb.

At first the corporal was startled, but her kind, reassuring smile was gentle.

"It's alright," she said, voice calming, just like the smile. "Your safe now. Just stay still."

She was beautiful. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean; pools of crystal on a white sea. Her red hair, which was long and curly, wrapped around her like a shawl. She reminded him of someone...but his mind was still foggy, and he couldn't even begin to remember who.

Blutch relaxed into the blankets and let his eyes roam his surroundings. "Wh-where am I?" The bright light that seemed to be all around him made it hard to tell.

The woman smiled even more gently. "You're in a covered wagon on your way to your army camp."

Army. Confederates. Caldwell. Oh!

Blutch sat strait up, despite the pain, as everything came back to him. "Clara! Where's Clara?! What happened to-"

The woman laid a hand on his shoulder, firmly pushing him back down. "Careful! You are injured. If you get up you will undo what we have done to help you."

Blutch looked down at himself for the first time since his waking. He still had his white button-down shirt on, but it was open instead of closed. From beneath it, more white peeked through; the clean white of bandages. They were wrapped snugly around his entire upper stomach and chest. More then the ones Dr. Jenkins had wrapped around him before. These covered a far larger area than just his ribs. The shirt had no stain on it; no blood, and seemed to be larger then he remembered.

The corporal looked back up at the woman, realizing who it was that she reminded him of. "Your Clara's mother, aren't you?"

Caroline Catitdel nodded.

"Is Clara alright?"

"Clara's fine," she answered, "Thanks to you."

Blutch blinked, still finding that part of the incident a bit fuzzy. "What happened?"

"You shot him."

The voice did not belong to Mrs. Catitdel. Looking to the side, both Blutch and Caroline saw Chesterfield leaning through the back entrance of the wagon. He wore his blue uniform jacket, front open like Blutch's own top, but no white shirt underneath. It suddenly became clear to the corporal that the sergeant had donated his white shirt for him. "How is he," the sergeant asked, nodding in Blutch's direction.

"He's in far less pain, it would seem," Mrs. Catitdel observed, "But he shouldn't strain himself in any way. And he certainly mustn't get up." This last statement was more for the corporal's benefit then Chesterfield's. "He's just a bit...confused."

Chesterfield nodded slowly. Then came forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. "May I speak with him alone?"

"Oh, of course, Sergeant," she smiled, rising and leaving quickly. She only stopped at the exit to tell them to call her if they needed anything. After she left there was a long silence.

"I...I shot Caldwell?" Blutch's voice sounded frightened, and confused.

Chesterfield came and sat beside his makeshift bed, nodding. "Yup. Twice."

"Twice?!" The corporal's confusion increased. Then he felt his stomach turn as realization dawned on him. "...Dead?"

Chesterfield sighed. "Blutch, what's the last thing you remember?"

Blutch thought for a moment, searching his jumbled mind for something that made sense. "I...I remember Caldwell grabbing Clara. He...he was going to kill her, Sergeant! I went...I found my pistol. I...I pointed it at him...He was going to kill her..." A look of total confusion crossed the soldier's face. "Th-that's all I remember."

"You don't remember firing the gun?" Chesterfield asked. When Blutch shook his head, the sergeant continued the narrative. "Caldwell was about to shoot Clara, and Mr. Catitdel and I made a run at him. Before we could reach him, however, you shot two shots. One caught him in the hand, effectively causing him to drop his gun. The other hit him right after that. Right in the chest. It must have hit his heart. He died instantly."

Blutch felt sick all of a sudden, turning very pale. "I...I didn't mean to...to kill him. But he...he was going to kill Clara. A little girl, Sergeant. An innocent child. I...I had to..." He looked as if he was about to cry.

"You did the right thing," Chesterfield said carefully.

"But...but it still feels wrong." He was silent for a moment. "Just like the war."

The sergeant raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Blutch didn't answer at first. "It's like this war. It doesn't feel right. Maybe it isn't right. But we have to keep fighting for the parts that are right. Just like I had to...to kill Caldwell to save Clara. We have to fight this war to save...the lives of those in slavery. To save our country's unity, and our freedom...right?"

Chesterfield's mouth curled into a proud smile. Blutch had never been terribly patriotic. To hear him speak in such words brought hope to the sergeant. He grinned. "Right."

"That's why you fight?"

"Yes."

Blutch fell silent again. "What happened after I shot Caldwell?"

Chesterfield's smile faded slightly. "You passed out, just as you fired the second bullet. Whether it was from the pain or...or something else, I'm not sure."

"And these?" The corporal gestured to the bandages that covered most of his upper torso.

"Well, for one thing, you'd been shot. Went strait through. Blood loss and pain probably led to you fainting the way you did." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When you fell, you landed on one of your cracked ribs. Broke it, it seems. That's probably why you shouldn't move much."

"Got it."

They both became silent. The sunshine beamed down through the canvas, as the covered wagon rolled along the road. Blutch wasn't sure who was driving, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was Mr. Catitdel. Clara was probably nearby as well. The corporal was glad she was alright. His mind shifted back through all their adventures since he had found the child, buried beneath the abandoned schoolhouse. He thought through all of the conversations, the joys...the fears, the attacks, the pain...But it had all been worth it in the end.

"Hey...Sergeant?"

"Yes, Blutch?"

"I...I don't think I'll have any more panic attacks."

Chesterfield cocked his head. "Really?"

Blutch nodded. "I think I understand...at least, partially. I can't change what has happened in the past. I can't change the fact that I never had a family. I can't change the fact that I was put in a rotten orphanage. And I can't change the fact that we are at war. But...but I can change what my life will be in the future. How my life will continue. How this war will end...I'm a part of this history...and what I do effects the story. That's how it is for everyone." He gave Chesterfield, who had been grinning ear to ear, a wry smile. "But don't expect me to participate in the charge, Sergeant. I'll fight the war in my own way."

The sergeant's face fell slightly into it's old scowl, but then he smiled. "I guess I wouldn't want you to change too much."

"Blutch?"

The small voice of Clara drifted into the enclosed space. Her little face peeked around a corner flap, red curls dangling about her lightly. When she saw the corporal awake, she ran in with a shriek of joy. "Blutch!"

Her friend winced in pain as she practically fell on him, embracing him in a hug that could have broken his other ribs. But he smiled. He didn't care. Clara's happiness was more important to him at the moment, than his own comfort.

"Clara! How are you? Are you alright?" Blutch looked her up and down, as if afraid some hidden wound would appear. She smiled at him, patting his hand gently.

"I'm fine! Mommy and Daddy are helping us take you back to your camp." Her smile faded. "Will...will I ever see you again?"

Blutch felt his heart falter. "I...I don't-"

"Yes," Chesterfield interrupted. Blutch and Clara looked to him to see him smiling down at them. "We'll make sure to visit." And Blutch knew he meant it.

Clara smiled. Then she seemed to remember something. "Oh," she exclaimed, fishing around in her apron pocket. She was no longer dressed in rags, nor wrapped in the corporal's uniform jacket. She wore a light pink dress with a blue ridden around her little waist. A clean, white apron topped the whole thing off. She pulled something out, cupped in her hands, and held it to her chest.

"You saved me, Blutch," she said softly, laying a hand on his. "More then once. You and the Sergeant helped me find my family. But it was you who stood up from me. You saved me from the schoolhouse, from the bear, and from Mr. Caldwell. I could never tell you how much you mean to me. I want you to have this." She opened her tiny hands to reveal the locket.

"Where- how did you find it?" Blutch sputtered.

"One of Caldwell's men had it," Chesterfield said. "But we got it back before they took him away to prison."

Blutch held the small trinket in his hand. "I...I can't take this," he whispered, holding the hand with the locket out toward the little child.

Clara smiled. She took her delicate hands and closed his fingers around it. "Please," she whispered back. "Take it, so you won't forget me."

Blutch reached out and enveloped the child in a firm hug. "I could never forget you, Clara Catitdel."

The small wagon was pulled along the road, kicking up dirt and rubble as it rumbled by. Inside, three friends talked quietly. One, small and sweet, enjoying her last few days with her companions. The other two, enjoying her company and reflecting on how the little girl had changed their lives for the better.

,..,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Two months later...

Blutch sat upon Arabesque's gray back. His hand fiddled with the locket that lay around his neck, hidden beneath his uniform. His ribs had healed nicely, as had his bullet wound. It still was a bit sore, but that was to be expected.

Chesterfield sat strait in the saddle on his steed right beside the corporal. This would be Blutch's first battle since he had been released from the infirmary. The sergeant watched him closely.

Captain Stark urged his horse to the front of the cavalry lines. Like a proud peacock, strutting before a hen-house. He stared down at the assembled Confederate army in the field below them. His red mustache twitched. Slowly, his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. With great seriousness, he drew it from it's sheath and held it above his head. With a loud yell he released a mighty cry to all those who followed his orders.

"CHARRRRRGE!"

Caught up in the moment, Chesterfield launched forward on his steed, sword raised in enthusiastic patriotism. In his excitement he didn't here the distinct thump behind him. Cheering and yelling, the cavalry charged into the oncoming wave of the enemy.

The battle was fierce. Canons exploded, guns sounded, swords clashed, and men cried out in triumph or, sometimes, defeat.

Chesterfield paused in his battle frenzy, looking about him for the first time for Corporal Blutch. But...he couldn't find him. At first, he was frightened something had happened to his friend, but then, high upon the hill where they had charged from, he caught a glimpse of blue and gray.

"BLUTCH!" The sergeant bellowed angrily. The shout echoed up above the battle, reaching the ears of two silently watching figures.

Blutch stood beside Arabesque, stroking the horse's mane as he concentrated on the battle below. He had a new understanding for the war now; a new respect, but he knew he couldn't fight. He knew he couldn't kill anyone else. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. He would change the war in his own way.

And as the resounding echo of his sergeant's frustrated shout faded into the surrounding hills, Blutch smiled.

"Finally...things are back to normal."

. The End .