Gettysburg

"Hell of thing to get killed for. Some damn loudmouthed brat ru

Qui

"All right, Qui

Qui

"Your idea, Qui

He wanted to tell the lieutenant to go to hell, but saw that the youngster was trembling like a leaf, though trying to hide it, to make a manful show by courteously offering Qui

Qui

Making the sign of the cross, he took a deep breath, stood up, and started forward at a run. From the comer of his eye, he saw a dozen or more men stand up, going forward with him. Fortunately, the furrows for the cornfield were plowed in the direction he wanted to go. Gasping for air, he continued to run, the wood line less than fifty yards ahead.

Rifle balls zipped past He heard the sickening slap of a round striking something hard just behind him. He didn't look back, but somehow he knew it was the lieutenant

The western flank of the cornfield was bordered by a split-rail fence. He ran straight into it, knocking the fence over, the impact knocking him over as well. Rolling, he half came up and saw a Reb aiming straight at him from not ten feet away. The Reb fired… and missed.

The Reb turned and ran. Qui

He could see the crest just ahead, less than twenty yards off. He looked back and saw half a dozen of his men were into the edge of the woods. From either flank there were shouts, someone screaming that Yankees were in the woods.

Qui

There, not three hundred yards away, was the road, packed with infantry, moving like a wave, dust swirling up in low-hanging clouds. A battery was directly below him on the road, bronze Napoleons, sunlight reflecting off their barrels, gu

Damn. It was big, damn big, and he felt an icy chill with the realization of all that this implied.

"All right Yank! Don't you move a goddamn inch." Shit

"Real slow now, Yank, just let that rifle of yours drop and put your hands out where I can see 'em."

Qui

I'm caught

"That'sright, Yank. No fuss now. Just do as I tell ya."

Well, at least I'll live out the day. The thought raced through him… most likely paroled after the fighting's over and live awhile longer. Get home alive. Beth, my boy, the farm… miserable little patch of land but still, better than what we had in Ireland…

He looked back to the road and before he even quite realized what he was doing he was up and trying to run. Strangely, there was no pain, just a numbed shock that knocked the wind out of his lungs. There was darkness for a moment and then he was looking up at green leaves, sunlight filtering down.

"I told you not to move, Yank."

The voice was weary, a bit hard to understand the accent was so thick. Deep South from the sound of it.

He felt something tugging at his hands. The man was taking his gun.

"Fine piece you have here, Yank. One of them Sharps rifles, ain't it?"

Qui

"Yeah. Damn fool tried to run. Y'all get the others?' "We got 'em."

The man knelt down by his side. Qui

"Sorry I had to kill you, Yank. Like I said, you should'a just been sensible about this."

He tried to breathe and couldn't. He felt as if he were drowning. Then hands grabbed him under the shoulders. The Reb pulled him up. There was a terrible stab of pain now. The Reb eased him back down, sitting up against the side of a tree.

"There, you might breathe easier now."

Qui

"Spit out that chaw, Yank. You'll choke on it."

Qui

"I think I'll keep this here gun, if you don't mind, Yank."

The Reb casually reached into Qui

"Mind if I eat this, Yank?"

Qui

"Thank you."

The Reb sat looking at him for a minute. "You got kin?"

Kin? Qui

The Reb opened Qui

Qui

"I know, Yank. I know." "Come on, Will. We got 'em on the run." The Reb was squatting beside him and looked up. "I'm comin'."

The Reb put the open daguerreotype into Qui

Qui

Will Peterson, Second Georgia, of Be

"Nice gun you got off him," someone said.

"Yeah, a real nice gun," Will said softly, as he bit into the peach and walked away.