The snowfall was getting steadily thicker. The Rebels stood motionless, seemingly oblivious to the weather. Like Robert, they watched as Lieutenant Pace fussed with his formation, moving the men forward, then left as he aligned to the Rebel position, eventually closing the gap between opposing forces to just under two hundred feet.

The Rebel soldiers understood their commander had thought of everything. They could feel the cold, heavy air and knew the bullets would lose momentum and fall as much as a foot before reaching the Union lines. For Robert, this was another advantage.

So much of battle was based on advantage, positioning, and leadership that a leader had to consider all the facets of a battle. As he stood alone before the Rebel line, Robert did not consider himself the best candidate for the job, he felt he was the only man present for the task, yet he stood still waiting for the enemy to fire their weapons when many aimed at him.

Unlike Robert, Lieutenant Pace marched to the left flank of his small army and took a position beside his troops. While his orders might carry on the field, the whole of his army would not hear orders. It was the choice of a young officer inexperienced and hoping to live.

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It was another advantage for the Rebels.

Still, Robert waited. In the distance he could see Pace smiling and excited as he pulled his revolver from its holster and shouted, beginning the sequence of orders to fire.

“Ready,” the boy drew the word out in a long shout dramatically.

It was a fool’s behavior; there was a rhythm to battle, a cadence to the orders based upon the time it took for men to load a rifle, though what they were using could hardly be called a rifle. The smoothbore weapons were more musket than rifle.

Amazingly, the Union troops began loading their rifles; Robert shook his head and looked at Lieutenant Anders in bemusement. Anders could only return the sentiment; what idiot marched his men to battle with unloaded weapons?

Five Sergeants chivied the Union men on, pushing the soldiers to hurry with powder, patch, and ball. The Rebels could hear the ramrods scraping from across the field.

“Skirmishers,” Men kneeling in the snow glanced back at the major. “Fire at will.”

They stood with fierce smiles and aimed at the noncommissioned officers with their revolvers. A sudden flurry of shots was obscenely loud in what had been near silence. Union soldiers screamed as sergeant after sergeant fell, the rebel aim accurate, each of their targets wounded to varying degrees.

More men fell as the skirmishers emptied their revolvers.

The familiar cry of defiance came from behind Robert, an undulating roar that was the mark of the Confederacy on the battlefield. The Rebel cry seemed to follow the drifting gun smoke to the Union lines.