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Coal Island
Fifty eight

Fifty eight

Realizing he had not been the target of the rebel fire Pace stood upright to see Major Kane standing rock steady, his beard bristling under an intense gaze, seeming to disapprove of the Lieutenants behavior, just as men close to Pace were muttering obscenities while glancing in his direction.

“Load, load,” Pace ran in the deep snow along the Union troops, urging them to hurry.

“Skirmishers down and reload,” the men complying quickly, knowing they presented a much easier target while standing. The disruption of the Union command structure added to the odds against Lieutenant Pace; all but a few of the sergeants and corporals were lying in the snow dead or wounded.

Fear was working its way through the Union lines.

Derision from the Rebel line continued with men taunting the Union troops until Robert raised his arm with index finger pointed skyward in a gesture used General Stonewall Jackson. Silence claimed the Rebel position, men standing straighter and tensing to raise their rifles.

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Wind gusted as the leading edge of the storm raced overhead. Snow devils crossed the gap between armies, swirling cyclones of snow dancing to an unheard music.

“Aim,” Pace shouted in the distance, the Union soldiers bringing their rifles up in ragged compliance.

“To the command,” Robert’s voice easily heard across the field as he brought his arm down to aim at the snow ahead, “down.” The Rebels kneeled in the snow with their rifles held upright. Only Robert and Anders remained standing in the face of the coming fusillade.

“Fire,” Lieutenant Pace ordered before he understood what had happened. His men aimed at the low shapes of the enemy, small shapes hidden in the snow, almost afraid to aim at the Confederate officers standing in plain view.

Shots rang out from the Union lines, a ragged volley that produced a long cloud of dirty blue smoke that covered soldiers as it drifted with the wind.