Snow covered Lieutenant Pace’s uniform, ignored as he seemed to take courage from a sense of invulnerability. Bullets passed to his right and left with none hitting him. His face gained determination and a maniacal half smile and he took control of his men, no longer caring about the Rebel gunfire; an unfortunate and unexpected result of Robert’s order that no harm come to the Lieutenant.

Pace’s effort gave the Union troops strength just as they began to fail from the onslaught, the men concentrating fiercely as they reloaded rifles despite more of their number falling to the ground and screaming as the skirmisher bullets found their targets.

Mimicking Robert, Pace brought his arms up, and his men raised their rifles.

From his position, Robert knew hell was coming; the flawed initial attack by the Union troops would not happen.

“Skirmishers down, and reload.”

With a heavy heart, Robert watched as Lieutenant Pace shouted orders to his men, the sound lost in the noise of battle, yet the boy was obviously telling his men to take their time and aim before firing.

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“Steady,” Lieutenant Anders from the far left, his order echoed up the Rebel line as men joined the call.

“Fire,” Lieutenant Pace screamed, his voice cracking.

The effect was immediate, the lead line of the Union troops firing their rifles in near unison, this time the gun smoke obscuring the Union line from sight. Bullets hissed through the air, snapping as they passed Robert until a mule kicked his left arm and his feet swept from under him. He landed hard on his back as men of the Rebel line also fell to the devastating Union fusillade.

“Fire,” Robert shouted upward from the snow. He noticed flecks of blood staining the snow close to him. Unable to use his arm, he fought to climb to his knees while ignoring the pain. The number of men firing rifles decreased dramatically from the first volley. The Union attack had given the Rebels heavy casualties.

Once again, the Rebel fire was highly accurate, each round hitting its blue clad target. More men fell to the ground; more screams on both sides of the field told of pain, and more bodies lay still in the snow.

Half of each small army lay dead or incapacitated. One hundred and fifty Union troops shuffled to create a single line while they reloaded their rifles, facing ninety Rebel soldiers who stood still as their friends fell to the left and right.

This battle would come down to who had the greater resolve. “Fire at will,” Robert stood.

The effect was immediate. Once more, skirmishers stood and poured fire into the Union ranks while Rebel soldiers reloaded their rifles at their own speed and fired without orders. Rather than slowing the rate of fire, the Union men were now under a constant withering attack.