Sergeant Burns visibly tensed just before the creature hit in a wave of blue cloth, bowling the Sergeant over as the rifle fired with a muffled report. The false Pace and Burns lay in a tangled mess, silent as more Union men stepped from the trees, no longer intent on a battle.

Robert jumped over the stockade wall to fall hard in a flurry of snow.

The creature keened as if waking; the sound turning into a bellow of rage as it mauled furiously at the still prone sergeant, fighting to extricate itself from the Irishman, who was fighting as well, a knife in his hand and his revolver firing point blank into the creature.

Scrambling to his feet, Robert pushed out of the deep snow and ran through the drifts to rescue Sergeant Burns, his urgency hampered by the deep snow. All the men knew the major liked the dour Irishman, none of the attackers considered firing at the rebel. More of the men in the stockade spurred to action by the example of their leader, opening the stockade gate wide as they followed Robert.

They were too late. The snow around the thrashing man and beast grew red quickly, testament to the ferocity of the fight. Floundering through deep snow, his concentration on the fight, Robert saw Sergeant Burns fail in his defense, his movements growing feeble until Pace stood above the prostrate form of Burns.

It was not an opportunity Robert sought. He slid to a stop and lined the sights of his revolver on the creature and, with practiced ease, emptied all six shots into the victor, a cloud of blue smoke obscuring his view.

He resumes his run, pushing through the thick smoke to see the beast stagger to more shots from the Union troops approaching from the ridge. All too quickly, the creature recovered and bound to the shelter of nearby trees.

Sergeant Burns was conscious when Robert kneeled in the bloody snow at his side, his eyes moving rapidly as his shaking hands trembled over the wreckage of his chest.

“Dear God, Robert breathed heavily as he placed his hands atop Burn’s hands and put pressure on the wounds. “Hold on, we’ll take care of you.” He felt useless. There was nothing to be done for the Sergeant.

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Burn’s mouth moved; the sound of his voice was so soft that Robert bent and placed his ear next to the dying man’s mouth.

“There are two of them,” Burn’s voice wavered as strength drained from his rapidly. “They live underground.”

“Stop, try to rest.” Union men arrived to hear the words, men from the stockade not far behind. No hostility remained in the surrounding men, as if the fighting had never occurred.

“Remember what I said,” the breath drained from the Sergeant as the surrounding men stood helpless to alter the tragedy.

Robert remained kneeling, staring at the body of his friend while all the men stood in deafening silence while snow floated gently to the ground.

“Do you still think you were following Lieutenant Pace?” Robert spoke to the Union guards, eventually.

There was no immediate response as men who had been determined to find enemies on the island realized they had been following a lie. It was easy for Robert to see understanding come to the men, fear replaced their belligerence.

“Can we stay here, Major?” Others nodded agreement with the idea.

Standing slowly, Robert returned his gaze to the body of a man he had liked. “You endured the same events as us, all of them showing us who the real enemy is, the monster pretending to be Lieutenant Pace. You brought the war here, and this is the result.” He gestured to the body lying on the ground.

“We were wrong, sir,”

“I need you men to return to camp and tell the rest of the troops what happened here.” Robert regarded the man with a steady gaze, his voice firm, decisive. “Do that and I will welcome you each here with open arms.”

“He’ll kill us,” fear bringing wisdom to clear the hatred.

“No, but you may have trouble convincing the rest of the guards.” Robert then pointed to the crest of the ridge. “The faster you walk, the quicker you can be back here with us. Get going.”

“He’s right,” the leader of the Union men understood. A price had to be paid for freedom and trust. He checked his rifle, then cradled the weapon under the wings of his winter cape. “Let’s go.”

“Get back here as quickly as you can, bring what supplies you are carrying. Don’t get caught by Pace.” Robert spoke earnestly to the men as they moved to the scrub pines, then disappeared in the brush.

Corporal Anders and a few of the Rebels gathered the body of the Irish Sergeant and quietly made their way back to the stockade as Robert remained motionless but for watching the procession.

“They’re going to die, aren’t they?” Private Holm asked bluntly.

“Probably,” Robert looked at Holm, his eyes dark. “They will serve as a wonderful diversion. Gather everything you need for rowing a boat to the mainland. We leave in ten minutes. Go.” Robert prodded the hesitant soldier. “Hurry.”