Both Union and Confederate troops had died in the forests of the Wilderness. Riding hard along the trails as they sought the best ground to establish their field hospital, Brent, Tia, and their party passed by sad and ghostly remembrances of the deadly battles gone past: bones, bleached white by the sun, stripped of all flesh by prowling creatures, lay in piles far too numerous all about the roads and among the trees and foliage. Tia tried to tell herself that they were the bones of horses, but a human skull kicked forward by her horse’s hoof dispelled whatever illusions she might have cherished. They found a copse far back in Rebel lines. Brent began to shout orders, and men were quickly setting up the tents, folding tables, chairs, stretchers, and instruments. Before they were set up and prepared, the injured began to come in, some screaming in pain, some silent, some awake, some unconscious. There were five surgeons beneath Brent, ten nurses including Tia and Mary, and six husky orderlies.
