Chapter 3

July 3, 1863. Around Midnight

Groans and harsh panting filled the air in the tent. Lamps burned nearby but did little to illuminate the scene of horror.

Flies buzzed, a constant drone in the background. Blood was everywhere. On the dirt floor of the tent. Covering the orderly moving about, checking each man in turn. Blood-caked bandages lay abandoned in a corner, and the dim light shone on operating instruments that would have felt at home in a medieval torture chamber.

Although the memory projection couldn’t include smells or physical sensation, I could feel the coppery memory scent of blood in the back of my throat, and all my limbs ached in sympathetic pain.

The orderly moved out of view and nothing remained but the anguished sounds. I wanted to close my eyes, but I...

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