Chapter 1
The March
I sniff. Me throat tightens and I feel it ache. I realize tears are on the brink of consuming the already melancholy state I am in. Gyle… Me friend. He was a good one. The best any person shall know in a place of such despair.
I simply cannot divert me attention and knowingly cast it to the bayonet strapped to me right hip. The tip of the black, leather scabbard is half buried in the snow, or as Gyle would have said, “Snaw.” Such a cruel instrument indeed. I continue to stare at the socket of the bayonet. So long too, that I stare at it until me vision goes blank.
“If only,” is all I manage before I shiver.
Through thee death of him, to honor Gyle, for months I attempted to speak as he but his tongue was, how shall I say, not akin to me own? He frequently said, “me,” when Gyle meant, “my.” The alteration of such a simplistic word was accepted and so he partially remains in me mind, spirit and prayers by the memory of his speech.
“Gyle,” I sob, and then tare my attention from the bayonet. “I am, I did not want… Why could ye… Why did not you put it… Why was is still in the open?”
With the sleeve of me navy blue coat, I brush away the tears but the motion proved to be fruitless. New ones were born immediately afterward so I let them have thee way.
Over yonder, the Gen’ls still make their way, examining the sitting bodies, like me, one after the other. I sigh as Gen’l Washington points and two men make haste and drag him off, I suppose to be rested in some God forsaken, frozen tomb. The other Gen’l, I say with little doubt, I quite like this Greene. Respectfully, with that gimp leg of his, I must admit he did appear rather unusual when he limps, but I further say, I feel good about him. I cannot express fully the reasoning but the men talk and we hear that if we lose Gen’l Washington, Gen’l Greene shall assume his position of the Army. He must be, I reason, a decent fellow and a good standing character for Gen’l Washington putting faith into him.
I still weep. I suppose if I am alone, another shall not mortify me if he witnesses me crying so openly.
*
Moments ago, I glanced at me right hand, just a peek, as the rest of it still tucked tightly in the coat. I was rather curious and as I hoped would not be, was. I saw me thumb, which resembled the toe poking through me shoe. Of course it bothered me so but such an assortment of colors were wretched – but accepted. On the march, the men and I witnessed thee pale blue hue, which appeared almost as light purples. Had it been one year prior, May of ’76,’ when I was a fool to enlist, I say with absolute honesty, such extremes of limbs needing to be removed respectfully from thy body where were birthed too, the screams are more than enough to remind a simple man from Virginia – like me – that cutting off me own… They call it a Fort, but tis more of a wintery ‘ell. Valley of the Shadow of Death; I would accept wholeheartedly that term than the Fort’s former name. Forge indeed! Yes! We forage for food, but alas none is available!
I wonder how the fallen are fairing? I ask me self suddenly, allowing me thoughts to travel freely. I think of them often, the deceased folk who perished before we reached… Here. Once, I felt proud and much obliged to serve in the ranks of the esteemed, Gen’l Washington. I heard marvelous stories of his Virginian Blues during the First War [1]. I once called them soldiers, and so help me, we were! But, I know, we are not, just pawns to be moved and trifled with at any presumable way they see fit. I dare say if I shall commit a sin now by slandering Washington, it is he that has deceived us. We die, bleed our last drip of blood and breathe or last bit of air, but the cost is intangible.
*
“Is he?” a youngin’ of no more than eighteen, asked softly. He, himself, was on the verge. Had I… I dismissed the memory quickly.
“Yes,” I said in the most soothing voice I could muster.
The lad nodded in response and without warning, he damn near knocked me over with that embrace of his. It was a rather unusual gesture, as gentlemen do not hug in the open but his own kin, his father, lied contorted on thy belly a few miles back there.
A horse whinnies, and me ears hear the familiar sloshing sound of hooves in snow. I remember I paid no attention but merely let the boy have his merry way with me. In doing so, I sort of cradled or the very least held on tight to the lad.
“You there. Move on – and take the boy. There are miles yet to uncover still,” and then the familiar voice of Gen’l Greene left. He trotted away from us.
I pulled myself to me feet and the lad occupied the gesture. We snatched our Besses from the ground, and filed into the line. Trailing our muskets in our right hand, we trudged through the ankle-deep snow.
“Are ye cold, Zack?” I asked as we marched along the trail set before us.
The question of course was ludicrous but became a common one amongst the men.
“Aye,” he answered.
I remembered I had smiled. Gyle said, “Aye,” too when he meant, “Yes.” But Zack was not Scottish or remotely akin to the Highlands. He, I assumed fancied the tales of Gyle when I found a quiet moment and spoke of him. Zack was the only person I wished to speak too concerning Gyle. Since then, I have often pondered why is it that I chose Zack.
“I have not but a crumb to feed thee.”
“You keep it,” Zack muttered.
“How are ye fairing?” I asked by changing the subject.
No answer.
“Zack?” I probed.
No answer.
I gritted me teeth and quickened me pace to inspect him. Side by side, we walked, not engaging in any sort of conversation.
“Tell me about, Gyle, Alex,” he said after a few minutes.
I hesitated. “Perhaps when we reach the Fort.”
“My chest hurts.” And then, an eruption of coughing.
I lightly slapped his back.
Zack dropped to his knees instead. He doubled over and coughed ever loudly. I moved the musket into me left shoulder, bent down, lifted him and allowed his body to drape over me right shoulder. It was a costly decision, I knew. Energy was precious and steadying Zack’s body, though as light as he was from the lack of a solid meal, proved to be concerning.
“I can,” he coughed, “walk.”
“I have ye,” I said.
“But you will die,” he coughed, “carrying me.”
His tone was weak, I remember. Frail.
“I am old,” I retorted.
“Nay,” he said.
“I am.”
“Put me down, please.”
“Nay,” I repeated.
“Why is it that you hold onto me when you are hurting yourself?”
“I will not repeat past mistakes.”
“You are not responsible for Gyle’s death.” He coughed again afterwards.
I did not respond.
I held onto him for as long I was able, but I had to release in just ten minutes.
“I do not think I can continue,” he said.
“You must,” I said gently to Zack.
“I think I should like to die here,” and then another wave of a coughing fit began.
Off in the distance, I heard a horse gallop. It did not take long for the beast to reach us.
“You both are prohibiting the line from proceeding. Every man has sidestepped your bodies.”
“He is ill, sir,” I said, referencing to Zack.
I heard Gen’l Greene sigh. “I apologize, but there is nothing I can do for him.”
“Go. I will catch up. I will rest a bit and then follow the tracks to the Fort. Be safe, Alex.”
I remember me eyes twitched. Likely, I was ready to weep, but I do not know for certain. I looked up to Gen’l Greene for support. A great weight settled upon me whole body. It hurt mostly inside.
“The boy will pay his visit soon,” Gen’l Greene said. “He gave his word.”
I looked at Zack.
“Go,” he coughed and gagged.
I placed me hand on his shoulder for a few moments and then never turned back again.
[1] - The term, First War, was referenced to the French and Indian War.
(Next Chapter, entitled, "Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, will be posted soon).
I like how you switch between the past and present, this was very well written too- I love how he's taken on his friends speech although I am very curious to know what happened to him!!
I'd love to hear more when you've posted it, I'm very interested in where this is going 
on with the review 
So anyway, basically just ignore me if I say 'I think this should be this...' but it was all intentional