Chapter Text
“Hey, what’s that,” Sergeant Davis said as he ran next to Private Doss, pointing at some red among the heather. They stopped and walked over to it.
“It’s a redcoat soldier,” Private Doss said, bending down. He tapped the man on the shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”
The soldier groaned, and rolled over, clutching his stomach. “He’s hurt,” Sergeant Davis said. “Let’s get him to the hospital in Inverness.” It took them some time, but they carried the soldier to the car and laid him in the back seat. The soldier moaned again, but didn’t wake or say anything else. They drove him to the hospital and pulled into the roundabout where the emergency room was. Private Doss got out and went to get a stretcher while Sergeant Davis parked the car and began pulling the soldier out. Some nurses came out with Private Doss.
“What do we have,” one nurse asked.
“A redcoat soldier. He’s injured in the stomach area, I think. He keeps clutching at one spot, and his hand is bloody,” Sergeant Davis explained.
The nurse nodded as the others wheeled the soldier on a gurney into the hospital. “Do we have a name for him, or anything?”
Sergeant Davis shook his head. “Nope. A John Doe.”
“I’ll need you both to wait in the lobby; we may have some more questions,” the nurse said.
Davis nodded. “I’ll stay, but I need to send my private back to report what we found on our run,” he explained. The nurse nodded and went inside. “Doss, report back to the captain. Tell her we found an injured soldier, and that I’m at the hospital with him. She’ll know what to do, and should excuse us from the rest of our physical training.”
“Yes, sergeant,” Doss said, giving a mock salute. “I’m on it.”
“Take my car back to the fort; it’ll be fastest. After the work day is over, come back and get me.”
Doss nodded as Davis handed him the keys, and then the private was gone. Davis settled into a chair in the lobby and flipped open a magazine.
Several hours later, a nurse came up to Davis. “We had to do surgery; we’ll need you to sign here.” He handed Davis a consent form.
Davis nodded and signed the paper. “How is he,” he asked, handing the paper back before standing up.
“Stable. He’s still asleep; we had to give him some anesthesia. He had a pretty nasty stab wound to the gut. If we hadn’t operated when we did, he would’ve gone septic and died.”
“Well,” mumbled Davis, scratching his head. “I suppose it’s good we found him and got him here.”
“He’s in room 406,” the nurse said. “If you want to see him.” Just then, Private Doss came back into the emergency room.
“Captain’s on her way,” he reported to Davis. Sergeant Davis nodded.
“Come on, let’s go see him.” The two soldiers followed the nurse back into the emergency room and to an elevator.
“Fourth floor, third room on the right,” the nurse instructed.
The soldiers thanked the nurse, and went into the elevator. They took the elevator to the fourth floor and stepped out, immediately seeing a nurse’s station. “Can I help you,” the nurse asked.
“We’re looking for room 406, with a John Doe,” Sergeant Davis said. “We’re the ones that found him.” The nurse nodded, and pointed to a room down the hall, and the two soldiers followed suit. They came into the room, where the man lay sleeping. His uniform and weapons were on a chair, and the man was in a thin cloth gown on a hospital bed. He wrinkled his nose, but slept on.
Sergeant Davis came over to the bed and sat on the edge, as the man opened his eyes. “Hey, he lives,” Davis joked. The man looked at him, then frowned.
“Who are you,” he asked.
“I’m Sergeant Eric Davis, and this is Private Brian Doss. We’re the ones that found you injured in the heather. We brought you to the hospital here. What’s your name?”
“Jonathan Randall esquire, Captain of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons,” the man responded, looking over at his uniform before looking down at himself.
“Well, captain, you’re in good hands. The worst of it should be over now,” Eric said.
Jonathan looked back up. “Who won?”
Eric and Brian blinked, then looked at each other before looking back to the man. “Who won what?” Brian asked.
“The battle at Culloden moor,” Jonathan said, as if they were stupid.
The two men shared another look, and Eric pulled out his phone, doing a search for a battle at Culloden moor. “Was it a reenactment,” he asked, pulling up the Battle of Culloden on Google.
Jonathan frowned again. “No,” he said.
“Uhm,” Brian said, looking over Eric’s shoulder at the screen. “What year do you think it is,” he asked.
“It’s April 16th, 1746,” Jonathan said. “Or at least, I believe it is. I may be off a day or two, depending on how long I’ve been out.”
“Try about 280 years,” Eric muttered. “It’s April 16th, but the year is wrong. It’s 2024.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened as he looked to each of their faces. Seeing no falsity in their faces, he blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around the year. “How did I get here,” he whispered.
“We were going to ask you that,” Eric said, closing his phone. “Any idea?”
Jonathan slowly shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
“What’s the last thing you remember,” Brian asked.
Jonathan thought about it. “I remember being stabbed,” he said finally. “I remember falling on the Scot who stabbed me, then I vaguely recall being jostled on a cart, but after that, nothing.”
Eric hummed and pulled out his phone again, before tapping it several times. “Captain’s here,” he said to Brian. “Go wait by the elevator for her.”
Brian nodded and left the room.
“Her,” Jonathan muttered incredulously. His eyebrows went up in surprise.
“Yeah,” Eric said. “I suppose in 1745 they didn’t allow women to hold rank, huh?” Jonathan shook his head. “Well, Captain Annalise McDonald is pretty fierce. She’s one of the fastest runners we have, and she holds the title for women’s combatives. She’s even fought and won against some of the men,” he explained.
“That’s… rather incredible,” Jonathan said.
“She’s beautiful too… reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes. She’s kind of short, but her uniform fits her really well and she’s got curves in the right places… I’d drink her dirty bath water, but don’t tell her I said that.”