would indicate pushing onward was safer than waiting like sitting ducks to be shot down by their own men. “Forward!” he yelled again. “Forward!” He sucked in gulps of air as he stumbled forward and lurched up another crest of ground.
Suddenly the crest erupted into flame. “Down!” Moses slammed himself to the ground as the hail of lead flew overhead. Its ominous whistle was not accompanied by cries from any of his men. Moses sagged in relief. The Rebel bullets, shot too high, had passed over harmlessly.
“Let’s get ‘em!” a hoarse voice hollered from the right.
Moses smiled grimly, realizing his men were out for blood. Other voices rose to join the defiant cry as his men burst forward over the entrenchment. Fierce screams mingled with desperate cries. Cracking brush joined with heavy thuds.
Moses gritted his teeth as a dark shape loomed before him. He thrust his bayonet forward with all his strength. He heard a stricken moan and then felt a heavy weight at the end of his rifle. Hardening himself against the sick feeling of revulsion, he snatched back his bayonet, leapt over the fallen Rebel, and continued to press forward.
The concept of humanity had been swallowed by the reality and necessity of survival.
Robert peered through the darkness as the distant spattering of fire died away. Suddenly a volley of fire exploded from the woods on the immediate right of their position. Taking scant comfort from kmowing his enemies could see no better than he, Robert snatched his rifle to his shoulder and fired in the general direction of the sound.
“It’s the Yanks!” one of his party cried, then cursed under his breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Robert had already spun Granite around, but he paused now to make sure General Jackson was safe. Staring into the darkness, he could just make out the shape of Jackson’s horse dancing in fright.
“Back to our lines!” another man cried.
There would be no more reconnaissance work that night. The Federals, humiliated by the earlier rout, were obviously using the cover of night to wreak their vengeance. They had advanced far into the Confederate lines.
Assured that all their party was together, Robert urged Granite into a gallop, heading left for the shelter of the woods. Just then the misty ground-cover dissipated, allowing more of the overhead moon to illuminate the road.
“Yankee Cavalry!”
Robert stiffened as the warning call was shouted from the shadowy perimeters. He opened his mouth to yell protest, but his words were swallowed in the explosion of gunfire. Chaos erupted as their own troops fired point blank into their advancing party.
“Stop firing!” Robert screamed, an instinctive reaction to the horror unfolding before his eyes. “Stop firing!”
Major Simpson, riding just feet from his position, gave an unearthly cry and toppled from his saddle. Ten feet over, another figure slumped and slid from his horse. Granite plunged to a halt then reared in protest at the onslaught of fire. Robert grabbed his mane and leaned forward, lying low against his neck. Turning his head, he watched as Jackson’s horse, frantic with fright raced straight toward the woods then broke again to the rear.
Robert groaned as Jackson lurched in the saddle then slumped forward. He had been hit! The general’s horse, uncontrollable now, dashed into a stand of trees. Jackson, unable to control his mount, was smashed in the face by an overhanging limb. Robert watched, helpless to
Suddenly the crest erupted into flame. “Down!” Moses slammed himself to the ground as the hail of lead flew overhead. Its ominous whistle was not accompanied by cries from any of his men. Moses sagged in relief. The Rebel bullets, shot too high, had passed over harmlessly.
“Let’s get ‘em!” a hoarse voice hollered from the right.
Moses smiled grimly, realizing his men were out for blood. Other voices rose to join the defiant cry as his men burst forward over the entrenchment. Fierce screams mingled with desperate cries. Cracking brush joined with heavy thuds.
Moses gritted his teeth as a dark shape loomed before him. He thrust his bayonet forward with all his strength. He heard a stricken moan and then felt a heavy weight at the end of his rifle. Hardening himself against the sick feeling of revulsion, he snatched back his bayonet, leapt over the fallen Rebel, and continued to press forward.
The concept of humanity had been swallowed by the reality and necessity of survival.
Robert peered through the darkness as the distant spattering of fire died away. Suddenly a volley of fire exploded from the woods on the immediate right of their position. Taking scant comfort from kmowing his enemies could see no better than he, Robert snatched his rifle to his shoulder and fired in the general direction of the sound.
“It’s the Yanks!” one of his party cried, then cursed under his breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Robert had already spun Granite around, but he paused now to make sure General Jackson was safe. Staring into the darkness, he could just make out the shape of Jackson’s horse dancing in fright.
“Back to our lines!” another man cried.
There would be no more reconnaissance work that night. The Federals, humiliated by the earlier rout, were obviously using the cover of night to wreak their vengeance. They had advanced far into the Confederate lines.
Assured that all their party was together, Robert urged Granite into a gallop, heading left for the shelter of the woods. Just then the misty ground-cover dissipated, allowing more of the overhead moon to illuminate the road.
“Yankee Cavalry!”
Robert stiffened as the warning call was shouted from the shadowy perimeters. He opened his mouth to yell protest, but his words were swallowed in the explosion of gunfire. Chaos erupted as their own troops fired point blank into their advancing party.
“Stop firing!” Robert screamed, an instinctive reaction to the horror unfolding before his eyes. “Stop firing!”
Major Simpson, riding just feet from his position, gave an unearthly cry and toppled from his saddle. Ten feet over, another figure slumped and slid from his horse. Granite plunged to a halt then reared in protest at the onslaught of fire. Robert grabbed his mane and leaned forward, lying low against his neck. Turning his head, he watched as Jackson’s horse, frantic with fright raced straight toward the woods then broke again to the rear.
Robert groaned as Jackson lurched in the saddle then slumped forward. He had been hit! The general’s horse, uncontrollable now, dashed into a stand of trees. Jackson, unable to control his mount, was smashed in the face by an overhanging limb. Robert watched, helpless to
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