A fiction written by Jim Guy (jimguy46@hotmail.com)

Characters: H DH VH mention of Cm G

Disclaimers: The characters from the Queen of Swords are copyright to Fireworks Productions and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended or revenue expected from their use. The story plot and other characters are copyright to the author, James Guy.

Synopsis: Helm finds a brother.

PG-13: Contains some graphic descriptions of war.

The soldiers nervously stood in a straight line, rifles shouldered as they waited for the command to advance. They tensed as they heard the commands were called out "Brigade! Regiment! Company! Platoon!" from the General to the platoon Sergeant. "Advance!" The soldiers moved as on as the entire brigade moved forward into the brinks of Hell. The British Regiment was comprised of two battalions of five hundred to seven hundred men; the brigade had two to four battalions. This Division was comprised of four thousand five hundred men ready to die.

Cannon balls flew, exploded and annihilated men by the scores. Blood, body parts, shrapnel all intermixed flew through the air splattering the survivors. The British soldiers were armed with rifles with an accuracy range of three hundred yards. They faced the French who were armed with muskets with a range of forty to sixty yards. British rifle fire ripped into the massed enemy troops and killed and wounded men by the ranks. At one hundred yards the order was given again. "Prepare to fire" Rifles were unshouldered as the men took aim at the enemy. "Fire!" Five hundred rifles fired as one and five hundred men fell. The enemy did not break and run.

The British were lined up in lines but ready to form the British Square. Napoleons army was formed "En Masse" forty men abreast and one thousand deep. The "Scum of the earth" as the future Duke of Wellington called his men prepared to march into this Hell.

"Advance!" came the order. The same order could be heard on the other side. At 200 feet "Charge, fire at will!" Both sides fired and charged with fixed bayonets and swords. Toward the charging opponents. Hand to hand combat became the order of the day. Uniforms, which had been of different colors before the melee, turned into the same color as blood gushed and splattered all the combatants.

From high above, one man watched himself charge into the battle cutting a swatch of gore through the enemy in front of him. Blood drenched his clothes and sword. Suddenly an enemy soldier appeared in front of him. The soldier slammed his bayonet into the man’s stomach and then fired his rifle to free the bayonet from the man’s body. Robert Helm was mortally wounded.

After an eternity, the retreat sounded from both sides and combat was disengaged. The dead and dying from both sides were intermixed, Surgeons moved through the gore attempting to recover their own troops from this hallowed ground, this killing field.

Doctor Helm woke from his nightmare. He was drenched in sweat, bedclothes ripped apart, torn by the hands of a man reliving his past. His heart was racing and his hands shook. After a while, he got up got dressed and wandered outside to the pueblo. It was only a dream, a nightmare as he had never been in this battle, never been bayoneted, never mortally wounded. He had been in similar battles, just not this one.

He needed company but the wanted to be alone. He spied Don Hidalgo and his wife dismounting from their carriage so he turned and went to the cantina. Vera headed for the market but Don Hidalgo had seen Doctor Helm and headed for the cantina.

"Mind if I join you Doctor?"

"I would rather be alone Don Hidalgo, I had a rather restless night."

Gaspar looked Helm up and down and then sat down. " I can tell. You were there last night."

"There? Where’s there and what are you talking about?" said Helm irritably.

"You were reliving your war." "What war, who ever told you I was in a war? We have never talked about war, as a matter of fact we hardly have spoken about anything."

"We didn’t have to Doctor. You told me by your bearing, the far off stare in your eyes, the lack of blood in your face and the fact that you are drinking a glass of whiskey and it is not even 10 o’clock in the morning. It doesn’t go away Doctor no matter how far you run or what you do." Helm just stared at Gaspar. Gaspar continued. "The killing, the smell, the pure terror remains for ever. I know. It took me a long time and a new land for me to put it to rest. Doctor, no one in Santa Helena except you now, knows of this. I have never spoken of it. Not even to my lovely wife Vera. She is the reason that I was able to find peace."

Gaspar paused and drank some of Helms whiskey. "It is there when I go to sleep, when I awake. It is there when I see a child or hear the soldiers. It is there when I make love to my wife or have a drink with a friend. You were there last night Doctor. I was there the night before."

"I don’t understand Gaspar, you are a don. What war would you have fought?"

"I fought the French when they invaded Spain. We were guerillas not regular soldiers. I know what is like to be shot as I carry the scars of at least 5 bullets. I was bayoneted once and was lucky to survive. Know why I don’t ride horses anymore? I was charging a French position when a canon ball slammed into my horse and exploded. I was fortunate to have survived that battle also, but not intact, as you might say."

"I know every thinks I am a fat old man, a cuckold because Vera sleeps with Captain Grisham. Oh don’t look so shocked Doctor, of course I know. I am unable to completely satisfy my wife because of my injuries. I love my wife and she loves me. Who does she come home to each night? Not Captain Grisham. You know Vera doesn’t realize that I know and I won’t tell her. Ours was a prearranged marriage even though she was of lower birth and I know that Vera still has contacts at the Royal Court in Spain."

Gaspar took another drink. "You see, I too know what it means to have my friends killed. Have their blood splattered on me. I have used my own bare hands to put a friend's intestines back into him so he could be bandaged. I had a friend’s head explode as a canon ball decapitated him. His blood and brains covered me. I can still smell it. It took me years to wash the blood away and even longer to wonder why I was spared. Doctor, I was troubled until I learned to deal with it. You will be troubled until you admit it also."

"Gaspar, I saw too much killing, which is why I went into medicine. But since then I have either killed or caused someone else to be killed. The Queen of Swords killed a man to save my life. I killed a man to save hers. I am tired of all the killing. I just can’t deal with it anymore."

"Robert, I felt the same way, but when that cabron kidnapped my wife, I had no choice. I had to put that mad dog down. I did it to protect her. When I killed him I also kept him from killing the Queen of Swords. You see, there is a difference. Killing in war, in general, is caused because men crave power. They are the ones who put us into that situation. Killing to defend a loved one or even an innocent stranger is not the same. You have to put the two in perspective. We have both killed in war. But did we did not do it because we wanted to. No. We did it to protect our comrades. War is not the glorious thing the politicians make it out to be. There is no honor and glory, save the country, et cetera. It is defending yourself or your friend."

"I know you are right, Gaspar. When I kill, I do it through instinct, but afterwards. Well, you know."

"Yes I do. That is what makes it so hard for men like us to live peacefully. We have remorse. We know that once the deed is done, the person we killed is gone, forever. That’s what separates us from the soldier and the killer. Soldiers, true soldiers have remorse for their deeds. They do what they have to do, but they don’t enjoy it. It is the few that enjoy the killing. If they were not soldiers, they would be murders anyway. War changes you, you know that. I remember that when I was finished with the guerillas, my father told me that I was not the same person as before. He was right, of course. War does change you. Some men can come to terms with it and other can’t. How many men do you know that killed themselves because they couldn’t deal with it?"

"Too many, and those that didn’t live in a bottle." Helm said as he pushed the whiskey bottle away.

Helm sat there not saying a word, thinking about what they had both just said. Gaspar also sat there not speaking for a time. "Why did you tell me this Gaspar? Me of all people?"

"Because you and I are brothers. There are four men in this pueblo who know what I just told you. You, Colonel Montoya Captain Grisham and me. You and I are alike. We have seen the ugly face of war and hated it. Colonel Montoya seems unaffected by it but you know he has been. Captain Grisham feeds on it. I never feared fighting a man like you, as we are the same. I never feared a man like Montoya, but I also gave him a wide berth. The man I feared is like Grisham. He relishes war and enjoys killing with no remorse. Someday he may pay the price. Either he will redeem himself by fighting for justice and liberty or he may hang."

"Only a brother can truly understand and you mi amigo, tu es mi hermano. What you need, Doctor is a good woman, like I have. Your problem is that you are in love with three women. Close your mouth Doctor, you will catch a fly. If nothing else I am observant. I have seen the way you look at Senorita Alvarado. I have seen the way you look at her servant Marta. And yes there is one other. I have seen you as your eyes follow, he inclined his head towards the doctor and whispered, The Queen of Swords." Gaspar started to rise as Vera came towards the cantina. The men continued to look at each other and paid no attention as Vera babbled away.

"Gaspar, you may be right in that," he said after thinking a minute. "You are also correct. I was there last night. Gracias, mi hermano."

"De nada" replied Gaspar as he and Vera walked away.

"Did you enjoy your talk with Doctor Helm, my love?" asked Vera as they proceeded to their carriage. "You two never talk. What did you have to talk about that was so interesting? You two have been talking for over an hour."

"Many things, dearest. Things that you wouldn’t understand." He helped her into the carriage and looked up into that beautiful face. "Maybe this is the time for you and I to speak of my past and how much I love you for saving me. You told me of your past now it is time for me to do the same."

The End of the past and a new beginning.

Note: Weapons used and troop strength have been researched from a battle between the French and the future Duke of Wellington.

The idea of brotherhood in this story came from the following poem written by a Brother in 1996. The poem comes from our era but it explains the connection between Robert and Gaspar. Any man who has worn a uniform in battle is a member of the brotherhood, no matter what army or what decade they served.

I met a man the other night

Who really took me to task

What’s all this about Brothers?

Was the question that he asked.

His manner really stunned me,

And then he made me sore.

But I pulled myself together

Before I put him on the floor.

A Brother is a Veteran.

Soldier, Sailor or Marine.

Coast Guardsman, Seaman, Airman Blue

Marine or Soldier Green.

They’ve stood together tall and proud,

And fought across the seas.

Gone where ordered without a word,

For the cause of liberty.

Persian Gulf and World War Two.

Parades when they came home.

Korea and then Vietnam

When Brothers came home alone.

A Brother has shared a lot

Cold, snow, heat and rain.

He has held a Brother in his arms,

Crying to ease the pain.

A Brother will be there for you.

It’s something that you learn.

A Brother will give you his last dime,

And ask for nothing in return.

Brothers band together

United for all to see.

A Brother watches over a Brother,

And his entire family.

And one last thing said I,

And he finally understood.

At every cemetery, around our Flag

Are guards from the Brotherhood.