Blue in Gray

Sergeant Able’s problem was that he couldn’t quickstep. He’d barely made it over the North River Bridge when the Southerners had reached the eastern end of the bridge. They had snipers set up on the eastern bank who were shooting anything that moved. A bullet had gone through another soldier running away from behind him and had grazed Able high on his thigh. The other soldier had been shot through and through, and had landed on top of Able, dead before they hit the ground.

Able heard the Southern troops running across the bridge and deploying themselves along the western bank. Then he heard the bridge blow. There’d be no regrouping by Tyler’s troops for another go at Jackson in Port Republic.

Able wasn’t dumb. He knew the blowing of the bridge would signal Tyler just not to stop his retreat to Harrisonburg. And Able couldn’t walk that far in front of a Confederate advance, even if he dared rise from the scant cover he’d gained when he’d hit the ground. The wound in his leg wasn’t fatal, but it would slow him down too much to make a run for it. And it might, indeed, be fatal if he didn’t get the bleeding stanched soon.

The first wave of Confederate soldiers fanned out parallel to the river bank and moved toward where Able lay, prodding Union soldiers who had been felled by snipers and helping along those mortally wounded but not yet gone. Able played dead, his body pretty well covered by that of his dead compatriot, as a battle-worn Reb passed him by.