The Gift of the Fallen Solider

         He called it an accident. She called it murder. Whatever it was, a gun had fired and a man laid dead on the floor. He endured a bombardment of profanities from behind a slammed bedroom door. From a secret compartment in a neighboring drawer he withdrew a fist full of dollars then shoved them into the right pocket of his worn overcoat. After striating a few loose strands of hair, he then placed his lucky hat upon his head. Wherever he was going, he most definitely was going to need it. 

        Before leaving he peeked into his son’s room. The boy laid in deep sleep upon his bed, with the pocket watch he had given him in the palm of his little hand. His father smiled as his heart shattered. This could be the last time he would ever see him. Travis blew out the dying flame of nearby candle then slowly began to open the front door, hoping not to disturb the neighbors.

        “Dad?” Said a familiar voice.

        Travis turned around revealing his six year old son. The boy rubbed the light bags beneath his grey-blue eyes that matched the ones of his father.

        “Go back to bed, little one…”

        “B-But.”

        “P-Please,” Travis begged as he struggled to hold back the tears.

        The boy was about to protest, but he saw the look in his father’s face.

        The man was broken.

         Out of love, the young boy held his tongue. He had never seen his father like this. Instantly he felt an urge. He ran to his father and hugged him super tight, or at least as tight as the boy’s strength could muster. His father hugged him back and could no longer hold back the tears. He began to cry. The boy then went back to his room and curled up into a little ball, holding the pocket watch of his father close to his heart as Travis headed out beneath the ghostly pale moon.

         Anxiety crippled the courier’s spine as he peaked through the open door, eyes bouncing from wall to wall, frantically aiming to ferret out a certain familiar face from the crowds of cheerful commotion within the clustered cabaret. The puns and plaudits polished the party erupted out from among the men and within the center stood the exotic men responsible for the new found positive outlook, David Crockett and his ambitious one dozen men from the state of Tennessee. 

      But the courier clung to the letter, parlayed by the potential impending possibilities that ran through his mind.Currently uninterested by the whimsical and wondrous words of the crafty Crockett, Antonio began to steer his attention to his surroundings hoping for another oddity at which to gander. He too searched from corner to corner and eventually found the worrisome courier in entrance to the corridor. He scurried through the dancing and discussing, to greet the returning arrival. Though halfway through the crowd grew congested, so he directed an inviting wave toward the messenger. 

     The runner managed to align his spine but his words were inevitably intertwined, for his inquire for Juan Seguin was nearly incomprehensible. However, Antonio couldn’t recall the captain’s current location, not a single thought of his whereabouts sprung to mind. Yet again the courier’s proportions seemed to collapse as he left his hand to merely dangle and expose the envelope within his palm.

        He sat upon an old wooden stool, hunched over his glass recently poured room temperature of whisky as he kept vigilant eye on the party around him. After skimming over the scene numerous times, Jim Bowie came to a halt as he spotted the quite concerned courier with a seemingly important letter. At once he removed himself from the top of his chair and decided to join Antonio and the messenger.

        His gray-blue eyes gazed into hers as his hand gently rested upon her upper hip while they swayed to the sound of a fiddle, and from over her shoulder he noticed a man with slightly cocked head glaring as he mouthed the words “Get over here.” Whatever the issue was, it was no laughing matter.  Regardless, the young man disregarded the notion and continued to dance with his newly acquired lady friend, though wasn’t long before the man from behind the woman, sent yet another glare towards the young man’s direction. And this time he left the young lady's side and worked his way through the crowd and before going though he motioned for Crockett to go with him.

        "What is it, Bowie?" the young man asked beneath his breath with a pair of clenched teeth, still sore from his sudden departure. And despite ill-mannered greeting, Bowie remained stoic and simply handed the twenty-six year old the sealed envelope from the worrisome courier.

        "Can I borrow your knife, Jim?" he casually inquired.

        "Give me the letter," Bowie replied.

        "I'm not going to do anything with your knife, Jim" he insisted.

        "Travis, give me the letter.”

         Reluctantly Travis forked the letter back into Bowie's possession and it was opened.

        "Now, it's about time you read it," said Bowie.

        "In its original Spanish?" Travis asked.

        "English, preferably," was Crockett's request.

        He read the foreboding words which sent chills to all five of the men. Some exchanged worried glances while others gave the floor a vacant stare.  They all had known this was coming, for all this letter did was ensure their worst fears and guaranteed their near certain doom, for the Mexican army was near and rapidly approaching.

        Soldiers shuffled in silence, listening as death drew near beneath the sun of the high noon. Hesitantly, the newly announced lieutenant colonel stepped forward and gulped as the eyes of the crowd fell upon him. They stood quietly, respecting the young inexperienced leader.

       “We all wish to see Texas stand on her own two feet, free from the corrupt clutches of Santa Anna. Free from this terrible combat. Free from bloodshed.”

         He paused to clear his throat.

      “We will sell our lives dearly in the name of our freedom.”

        He drew his sword and within the loose sand upon the dry, barren ground. Then with its tip, he formed a line.

      “I-If you wish to remain and fight for your right to freedom,” He said with a slight stutter for the mere thought of the coming command was heart wrenching…

      “Join me on the opposing side of this line. If we all band together, the more the odds shall fall with us. I know, God has yet to show his mercy, but our deaths shall not be in vain.”

      All but one crossed the line.

     He held the pistol with an extremely tight grip as the enemy swarmed on the ground below, guns aimed high in the air to increase the likelihood shooting him down.  Bullets whizzed past his head, ruffling his tuft of orange hair as the wails of the wounded and gunshots fires flooded his ears. He maneuvered his firearm over the opposing army and aimed. However, much to his misfortune the gun did not respond to his pulling of the trigger. Aloud he cursed the useless piece of equipment as he threw it down the wall, knocking a hapless Mexican soldier below, causing him to relinquish his grip on the ladder and topple down on his fellow troops. Beside the commotion of the falling man, he spotted a corporal taking dead aim at him with the tip of his rifle. 

     The pounding of drums awoke him from his nightmare. However, this time he was living one. He rubbed the deep dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. The letter of his final plea for military assistance would have to wait. Aware of the odds, he felt his heart pound. The bags beneath his grey-blue eyes were rather pronounced on his fair complexion as his forehead laid on the palm of his hand and his whole head bobbled repeatedly, giving to any observer the obvious indication of complete exhaustion.  Anxiously, his eyes looked upon his ring, bringing the comfort of a fonder memory.

     A gentle summer’s breeze startled his spine as he began to unbutton his white wrinkled shirt in preparation of his crossing. He then slipped off into the river beneath a black blanketed sky and swung his arms in the clear blue water, before aimlessly groping about to find land on the other side. Once a firm grip was established upon solid ground, he prepared to place down his other hand, but it failed to reach his original intent. It interlocked with the hand of his beloved.

    “R-Rebeca?” He stuttered in slight surprise, “I wasn’t expecting…”

    “Shhh,” she whispered as she brought a finger to his lips, “I have something for you…”

     His eyes gazed intently upon the gold band equipped with a green cat’s eye stone. This was all he had left of her. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. A woman entered, cradling a toddler within her slightly fatigued arms.

    “Travis?” she spoke softly.
    His focused remained on the ring, his mind was off in a distant memory. Never again could they be together. Upon this every night, he could possibly die.

    “Excuse me, sir…” she whispered as she gently touch his shoulder. 

    “Oh my!” He cried, spooked from the unexpected contact, so much so that he nearly jumped out of his skin, “Forgive me, Mrs. Dickinson.”

        “Bowie was looking for you…” She replied.

        “Tell him I’ll be heading over soon. I was just in the middle of…”

        His attention fell to the young girl in the woman’s arms. His forehead remained in the depths of his hand until a sudden tug on his trousers triggered him to jump ever so slightly. Looking down, Travis spotted a pair of big blue eyes along with a nearly toothless smile aimed directly at him. Falling victim to the toddler's charm, he reflected the gesture with a playful grin of his own.  She sheepishly buried her face in her mother’s dress upon the first second of eye contact. He gave a reassuring smile.

        “Don’t worry, little one,” he whispered to the child. “I don’t bite.”

        The girl revealed her bright blue eyes and giggled.

        “May I hold her?” He asked, whispering in her mother’s ear.

         She replied with a slightly hesitant smile, but allowed the man the liberty.

Once placed upon his knee, her senses became overwhelmed with all the things within her reach. Her eyes doubled in diameter from the new view and she immediately began to fiddle with the buttons all along his shirt. Amused by her curiosity, he gave a light-hearted laugh, though he came to a halt as he felt yet another tug, however this one was on his ring finger. He glanced down to discover the youngling toying with his ring.

        “I’d like you to have this,” he said as he began to take it off.

        “Travis,” the woman cried in protest, “That isn’t necessary…”

        The young man continued to remove the golden band and placed it in the girl’s palm.

        “Take care of it,” he said with a smile, “little one.”

        His irises laid upon the solid gold band equipped with a green cat's eye stone as the young girl gazed into his hesitant eyes over her mother’s shoulder while they slowly exited the room. 

        In the heat of battle and with the lack of ammo, he formed a fist and relentlessly struck a Mexican solider. He then started to wipe a speck of blood from his chapped lips as a midnight breeze ruffled his auburn wavy locks beneath the deathly pale moon. In his blood splattered makeshift uniform, he turned to his right which revealed an older man with deep concerned within his hazel eyes and a coonskin cap struggling to maintain its proper place upon his head.

        “Travis!” He cried, “Behind you!”

        The young man quickly turned to face what would be the last face he would ever see. The face of the enemy. A young Mexican boy, no older than seventeen, loaded a rifle. His eyes showed no mercy. Only dark brown eyes, dulled with the realities of war. Carefully, he aimed and pulled the trigger. The Travis’ eyes widened. He bit his lips to muffle the sound of pain and fell to his knees, for the bullet had blown straight through his forehead.

•       A young woman stands with a ring, but not one of a sign of marital status. She gazes into its cat’s eye stone as the gold band slowly tarnishes with time and age. She remembers the moment and the man who laid down his life in the name of her freedom. She stands before the abandoned mission in a barren field of gold. There she remains and stands alone as a survivor of the siege of the Alamo. 
  

•    Cannon shots fired, bullets whizzed past his head as the sound of his galloping horse flooded his ears. The Tejano’s heart pounded as his eyes grew watery and his lips quivered. He bit his tongue to muffle his sobbing. He could hear the cries of combat growing more and more distant as he pulled down the brim of his hat to mask his salty tears.  He couldn’t believe he was leaving them behind. His men, his soldiers, his lifelong companions. He was leaving them, and leaving them to die.
  
    Seguin approached a new battleground in the dead of the night. He wandered and peeked inside a nearby tent. He saw a man with the little light provided by the flame of a candle. The man was hunched over, seemingly deep in thought.
  
   “Sam?” The young Tejano whispered.
  
    The older man looked up, acknowledging the unexpected arrival.
  
  “Juan?” Sam Houston replied, “What are you doing here…?
  
   Seguin removed his hat and held it to his chest. His heart pounded. His mind was racing with the fear of losing the lives of his men.
  
  “The Alamo,” Juan Seguin whispered, “She’s in grave danger of falling.”
  
  “I thought I told Travis to burn that damn thing,” Houston growled.
  “My men,” Seguin cried, “I don’t know how much more they can take… Sam, you must send reinforcements!”
  

  “I can’t, Juan,” Houston answered, “I really wished…”

  “B-But,” Seguin stuttered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry?
  
  Juan was outraged. His men were on the verge of departing from the Earth and ascending into the golden streets of heaven and all the almighty general of the Texian army could do send his apologies?
  

  “I have to go back,” said Seguin

  “That’s a death wish, Juan.”

  “I have to go back, Sam.”

  Juan turned to leave, but Houston grabbed his shoulder.
  
  “No,” Sam said, looking him straight in the eye, “You’re staying here.”
  

  Word arrived that the Mexican army was setting up camp just few miles away at the break of dawn. Houston already had a potential winning strategy in mind. He was going to instruct his men to attack at night, it was a genius surprise attack.

   Seguin had reluctantly followed his orders and remained at San Jacinto, though the thought of his comrades back in San Antonio still plagued his mind. Surely, they all must be dead by now. He prepared his pistol and raised the brim of his hat. In the names of his fallen companions, he was going to give this fight his all.

   “Juan,” Houston called, “I want you to remain here at camp.”

    “What?” Seguin said in complete shock.

    “I don’t want you Tejanos to be mistaken as Mexicans.”

    “You’re kidding, right?”

    “No, not at all.”

   “This is our fight too, Sam.”

   “Do what you will.” 

     Captain Seguin led his men to into the heart of the combat as his pounded with the adrenaline that ran through his veins. He held his head high and cried in the name of his men.

     “Remember the Alamo!”