Pickett's Charge

Mitch heard one of the twins cry out in pain. The officer turned and saw John Lane drop to the earth and roll over onto his side, holding his thigh. Blood welled up from a dark hole several inches above his knee. There were others down too, but Mitch could not tell how many. Even though that Union volley had been at two hundred-fifty yards, dozens of Tennesseans had been hit.

"Get down!" someone screamed and the boys who were still standing dropped onto the gravel road. Many of the Tennesseans crawled across the road and took shelter behind the second post-and-rail fence. The highway was in a low spot, so the Tennesseans were safe as long as they remained behind the bordering fence.

Bullets whacked into the fence boards, punching holes through the wood and spewing splinters down onto the huddled Confederates. The roadway was a bedlam of soldiers, crawling about and calling out to their friends. Some raised up their rifles and fired back at the Yanks, not even looking to aim. Others lay on the ground screaming in pain. The constant rattle of musketry thundered over everyone, making thought difficult, and the hearing of commands impossible. Mitch noticed that Sergeant Cato had crawled to his side and was safely behind a thick oak post, calmly studying the distant Federal line.

Captain Norris crept up to Mitch and Cato and yelled, "The colonel wants us to advance. He wants us to attack. We got to get the boys to move forward."

"That’s suicide," shouted Mitch.

"I know," said Norris, "but those are his orders."

A lone Tennessean stood up, a few yards from Mitch and began to climb over the fence. Suddenly his chest and face exploded into a mist of pink goo as several bullets struck. The dead man’s body was tossed backwards by the impact and thudded onto the gravel.

"We got to do this," shouted the captain, gazing into Mitch’s eyes. "We got to."

"This is not good. We’ve got to get some artillery onto those Yanks to suppress their fire. Otherwise we’re going to get slaughtered."

"It ain’t your call, Mitch," said Cato, grimly staring at the murderous Federal line. "It’s time to be a leader."

Mitch swallowed and nodded slowly.

"You ready now, Shreve?" said the captain, his eyes glaring.

Mitch pulled his sword out of the scabbard and looked at Will Cato. The sergeant wiped at the dust on his face. Then the captain was yelling to rise up and advance. At first no one moved. There was no movement except for the steady rain of fence rail splinters.

The Seventh’s color guards rose up and carried the battle flags over the fence. One of the flag carriers immediately pitched forward and fell, taking the banner down with him, but another Tennessean snatched it up. Other soldiers swarmed over the rails and gathered near the flags.

Then Cato shouted and stood up. Mitch rose next to him, and so did Bobby Shreve and Jack Lane. They all bellowed and began climbing over the fence. Others followed and soon a crowd of Tennesseans had crossed over the barrier and rushed to protect their colors. Mitch saw the colonel not far away, waving his sword in the air, and yelling above the roar of the musketry. It was now time, thought Mitch briefly, to be a man.